Brave New Era Quadrilogy I: End of Beginnings
by Avimus
Summary: No hero survives an apocalypse without repercussions. For Spyro, Cynder, and the meager collection of refugees from the Great War, the journey has not ended but only just begun. In the aftermath of Malefor's rampage, paths are destined to split and new relations to form, for in this brave new era, the times call for a hero in everyone.
1. Once on the White Isle

Brave New Era Quadrilogy I

End of Beginnings

a.k.a. Great Migration

Avimus's Foreword:_I just want to thank all of you for the following that I've had over the past year with this story. All twenty-five of you who have either subscribed to my posts, subscribed to me as an author, or favorited me or the story have been a definite motivation for me to keep on chugging through. As a gift for your loyal following, I'm going to finish this book out at 25 chapters by the end of May, which means that there are going to be chapters updated every few days. It's going to be a lot of work, but if so many authors can slap down a full novel in less than a month, I can finish this one in more than a month. Once I'm finished, I'll go over a brief editing stage before I move on to the second part of this series. Again, thank you so much for all of your help. Reviews for all chapters, new and old, will all be read and appreciated, critical input moreso. With that, proceed on to the story of Spyro after his defeat of Malefor.  
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_-Avimus  
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**LEGAL EFFECTS: I claim ownership over none of the characters that may appear in my stories that belong to the original franchise. All material produced is purely for the motive of the enhancement of my own writing abilities and will never be used with the intention of commercial gain.**

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The globe was a raging inferno, beasts and plants and living things of all manners succumbing to the heat of the flame and the force of the plates falling apart at their foundations. A withering, deafening scream swept across the land, as if the planet itself was a living entity, dying a slow, painful death. Gaping holes poked from the center and as far as the eye could see, empty space. Nothing remained, not a hint of life but for the massive tsunamis soon to be quelled as the previous force of gravity diminished. It seemed that all hope was lost.

Yet, a small purple light flickered at the epicenter of the massive disaster. A small flicker of destiny. The ball of purple-indigo light began to grow, steadily at first, and then accelerating with the might of a thousand flaring suns. The energy core soon encompassed the entire planet, and within, time was defeated. Rather, to replace the ravishing qualities of time was the opposite of time, a little known element called Convexity, the space between light and dark.

Rather than spreading now, the plates were coming back together, the horrific sound of the Earth screeching in complete reverse. Crumbling soil latched back to the larger chunks like salt forming on a larger crystal. As if in the range of a thousand years and yet in a mere few seconds, a green flame diffused from the equator to the poles. Life was returning to the planet.

For several more moments, the celestial body, no longer in shards, was held in suspension, glimmering in the purple pall cast by the energy core. The monstrous scene of the total explosion had almost never been. The energy core suddenly fizzled, as the living, breathing source of the core had finally been depleted.

Unknown to the shaken inhabitants of the world, on a small yet mysterious secluded island in the center of the ocean, the dust was settling in an archaic library. That is to say, the curious blue sand in the hourglass standing sentinel over the room had nearly sunken to the base of the glass. Taking note of this occurrence, an ancient dragon, worn gray in color and smelling of old incense, hobbled to the lectern at the head of the library.

Without even a motion from the old sage-dragon, a thick, gold enameled book hovered and balanced on the edge of the lectern. The pages began to turn, seemingly at their own will, pausing for a moment over the image of a scorched planet and later, towards the end, of a multicolor entourage of dragons with a mischievous dragonfly at the head.

The dragon paused, somewhat startled. He lifted his head, shaking slightly, eyes shimmering with a dull blue light. "Greetings, Ignitus. I have awaited your arrival for centuries."

His voice echoed on the walls, the first sound to be heard since the explosion. He continued speaking, though no other dragon or other being was even within range to hear him. He spoke of the role of the Chronicler, the wise observer of the age, as well as the Second Age of Dragons. Finally, he addressed his absent audience by name.

The Chronicler swiveled around. "Ignitus, your time has come to approach your destiny."

Without warning, a noble flame-red dragon stepped from behind the hourglass, which had begun to vibrate.

Ignitus, appearing quite concerned, growled, "I must tell you, I never expected this privilege. Nonetheless, will I be able to tell of Spyro?"

The Chronicler gave him a grim frown, somewhere between suspicion and certainty. "I have asked myself that many times."

He continued, stating, "I happen to have a record of the end of every single book in this room. The book has no name, but you may call it whatever you wish."

The gold-fringed book slid off of the lectern, to be replaced by an enormous moldy black tome. In the space where it had been was a strange knob. "I can tell you that Spyro's book is not in the heart of this story."

By this time, the hourglass had reached the peak. The indentation in the ground on which it stood could barely retain the shaking glass. The Chronicler smiled, looking forward, through the wall. He rose on his hind quarters, still peering as if he could see the ends of the universe. "The end of the First Age approaches," he acknowledged.

Ignitus' eyes widened. A blue light encased the Chronicler, and the figure of the old dragon faded quickly. The light split into two visible rays, half spreading to Ignitus' heart, the other, to the hourglass. As Ignitus' maroon scales glowed and morphed, the sand of the hourglass rushed to the very brim. By the time that the hourglass was full to the top, Ignitus was a changed being. Still appearing as young and fit as if he was in his younger days, his scales were a bright sky cyan. A knowing look entered his now azure eyes, twinkling as a star would in the night sky.

He peered into the fungal tome on the lectern. "Where do the winds take you now, young dragon?"

Ignitus was positive that he wasn't going to see either of the names in the ratty pages that he so feared he would before. Just as with the Chronicler before, the tome rose of its own accord, filling the empty space where the doorknob was hidden. A purple book with a yellow binding replaced the Book of Death on the lectern.

"Now, yes, let's see…" Ignitus mumbled while searching through the last few pages in the book. "Your adventure is most certainly far from an end. I can see that you will soon become aware of the harrowing, yet rewarding roles that the purple dragon must fulfill at the start of a new age."

The sands behind the new Chronicler were falling, tinkling as grain by grain hit the now visible metal basin inside.

"But all is not well. I sense your old spark leaving your true being. You grow strong, but you lose yourself. Such adventures leave tangible and intangible marks on one's being, not always for the best."

Ignitus stopped talking to himself, and for several minutes, the antiquated archive remained silent. As the next page in the book flipped, the dragon did a double take. Eyes wide with surprise, he peered closer at the image, a patch of orange visible on the page.

"Strange, I have no book that mentions this dragon. He should have his own book if he appears in the pages of another…"

Still perplexed, he turned swiftly to the door and padded to the pool in the entrance hall, much faster than what his predecessor would have managed. Several tomes could be seen flapping like birds through the passageways, but Ignitus took no notice of them. He stared into the pool, seeing images of the past and the present, taking note of the cypresses and other conifers that speckled through the landscape visible in the pool.

Ignitus leaned closer, and a flash of bright acid green blinded his vision for a few moments. He shuddered. "This has never happened before in the history of our race."


	2. Commander Cheetah

**Part I of II: The Journey**

A sense of peace rested in the air. A luscious forest sparkled with life, brimming with the calls of birds and the colors of blossoms in full bloom. The scent of nectar flowed through the pleasant breeze, wafting around the greenery. The sharp peak of mountain located in the center of this blissful forest was unrecognizable from the state in which it was only minutes before.

At the crater of the currently inactive volcano, shapes were rising. Not rocks of molten lava, but a blur of magenta, distorted by the speed at which the objects were moving. Without warning, two figures flew directly from the gaping hole, then promptly changed direction and veered sharply to the canopy below them.

One of the creatures, a black dragoness, gracefully looped and grounded next to a ring of toadstools with barely a visible impact. The other, an oddly bright color of purple, skidded across a blanket of leaves before coming to a complete stop.

The darker dragoness tossed her head with a smirk, not unpleasant. "I see that somebody has been too busy saving the world to practice their landing techniques."

Slowly getting to his feet and brushing the dirt off of his scales with his wings, the purple dragon shot back, "Well said, from someone who uses the element of wind." His gaze lightened. "Cynder, I can't believe it. I never thought that we'd ever get this far or that we'd ever be done with Malefor."

Cynder curled her slender tail around, checking for wounds. "Ah, you know that I knew the entire time that we were up to the challenge."

"Am I sure I'm hearing this? I can't help but remember a certain voice saying that it wasn't ready to go on," he replied.

"Spyro, just be quiet."

The two dragons simply lay there for a few seconds before getting to their feet again. Cynder peered up at the sky while flexing her membranous wings.

"What do you think we're going to do… now that Malefor is gone? Do you think things will just settle down?" Cynder asked.

Spyro bit his lip, taking on a glazed look. He'd never thought about what would happen after he'd fought the Dark Master. Everything before had seemed to lead up to the last few moments: his defeat of Cynder before she reverted to her true form, the passage of three years that had never seemed to happen in the Well of Souls, the battle for Warfang. "I honestly don't know. I'm sure the guardians will be able to tell us something."

The thought of the guardians made him remember his surrogate brother. He wondered briefly what Sparx was up to.

"We should probably find the guardians now. I don't even remember where they are," Cynder admitted.

Grinning back at her, Spyro snorted, "That would be because the female race has no sense of direction."

Several miles to the south of the volcano, creatures of all manners, including cheetahs, moles, and dragons themselves, were flowing out of the caverns to the river that had once been a dry canyon. Surrounding the canyon were woods on all sides. Several dragons were gathered at the edge of the cliff overlooking the canyon. A small yellow light which looked quite misplaced among the crowd darted to a particularly enormous and battle-scarred green dragon.

The dragon, Terrador, acknowledged the sparkling object with a flick of his battle-mace tail. "Sparx," he said. "How goes it, young dragonfly?"

Sparx pulled at a waving antenna on his head. "You know me, always uptight. Yep, that's Sparx."

Terrador looked up at Sparx with an expression of mirth, amused by Sparx's choice of words. The dragonfly landed on Terrador's handsomely curved horn, examining the scratches and indentations. He continued, "Green guy, you wouldn't happen to have seen Spyro, would you? I need to find him. After all, I already regret listening to him when he rushed off with Ignitus. I mean, since when have I let him tell me what to do, huh? He needs his bro. Besides, old red ga−"

Terrador cut him off with a short jerk of his head. Sparx had to grip the edge of the green dragon's horn to keep from being flung off. Terrador looked up at the dragonfly. "I see that you still have a tongue worthy of Volteer." He chuckled deeply. "No, I have not seen Spyro, Cynder, or Ignitus, nor have any of the rest of us."

When Sparx still seemed unsure of himself, Terrador added, "By the looks of the world around us, Malefor has been defeated. Although we cannot jump to conclusions, I would take it that the fact that we are still standing here means that Spyro likely is, too. I sense content in the Earth that I have not felt since before that fateful night when Spyro's egg was stolen by Gaul. Do not worry so. You will only succeed in causing pain to yourself."

All around them were the recovering peoples of Warfang, staring at the land as if unsure that this dream was reality. A cheetah with fur colored deep as the mellowest ray of the sun called out, "All members of the tribe of Avalar, rally to my side."

The chief paused. "Hunter, I want you to come here. I need to talk to you."

All cheetahs, a flurry of blue and golden fur, rushed to the chief's side. An archer, adorned in a worn oak tunic, crude longbow strapped in, stepped towards the sunset-orange cheetah.

Hunter bowed his head in respect to his leader. "Yes, Chief Prowlus."

Prowlus, earthy green eyes glinting in the light, drew the curved dagger dangling at his waist from the sheath. "We must head back to the valley. We don't know what creatures may have defiled our homelands in our absence. Besides, the dragons and moles need time on their own to recuperate and rebuild their city."

Somewhat confused and shifting from side to side, Hunter replied, "But sir, if you don't mind my being rude, what is it that you need me to do?" He still hadn't forgiven Prowlus for his hasty actions back in the valley, when the chief had nearly destroyed the village in his pride, turning Spyro and Cynder back.

"It's not a matter of what I want you to do," Prowlus responded impatiently, tugging at his green tunic with dagger in hand. "It concerns the organization. It pains anyone to admit that they are wrong, and I… I guess that's what…"

Hunter raised his eyebrows, just a hint of a smile forming at edge of his lips. He refrained from prompting Prowlus further, reveling in the moment and knowing that any one action could change the cheetah's mood.

Prowlus resumed speaking. "Anyway, that's not the point. What I'm trying to get at is that one cat is not always right, and I mean any one cat. I was thinking… we need to bring back the old tradition of having a tribal commander, someone that works with the chief to decide plans of action. I realize how much you did in guiding those two dragons."

Hunter's eyes widened. This was certainly not on the list of expectations he'd had of Prowlus. The other cheetahs were now peering at Hunter in admiration, knowing what was to come. Hunter looked back at the chief, who was still having trouble finding words to express himself.

Prowlus raised his blade. "You've done the valley an honor, Hunter… and there is no other warrior that I would rather have at the head of my tribe."

_This must be truly torturous for Prowlus, _Hunter thought. Chief Prowlus gazed somewhat awkwardly at Hunter.

"Do you accept my proposition?" he asked.

Hunter kneeled down, fur brushing the grass. The other cheetahs backed a distance, forming a circle around the two warriors.

"I accept your offer with gratitude."

Prowlus nodded and stepped to face Hunter. The chief spread his feet so that they were beyond shoulder length apart and held the dagger over Hunter's head as if he were an ancient king knighting a squire. All heads looked to the center but for Prowlus and Hunter.

Hunter looked up as the chief began to recite the ancient rites. "In the eyes of the ancestors walks the worthy combatant, both in field, village, and mind. May he triumph in battle. May he protect and care for his fellow tribal warriors. May he bring to the valley what no single being has brought before him."

All was silent for several moments. Then, "Privileged is he who is appointed on the dawn of the victory of war."

Face set and cloak rippling in the wind, Prowlus hit Hunter three times with the flat of his blade. _Tap! _on the left shoulder. _Tap! _on the right. Then, with a final rap on the head, Chief Prowlus announced grandly, "Rise, Commander Hunter of the Cheetahs of the Valley of Avalar."

"Ha! I see what Prowlus was waiting for now," mumbled a voice in the ear of one of the cheetahs standing around the procession.

"Sparx!" whispered the cheetah. His fur smelled strongly of herbs and soil. "You mustn't speak too loudly. This is a serious event."

"Yeah, but don't you see what I mean, Meadow?" Sparx asked, resting on the cheetah's shoulder. Hunter was addressing the circle now, pledging his allegiance.

Meadow crossed his eyebrows. "No, Prowlus hasn't been waiting for anything. We've been in the middle of a war, if you haven't noticed."

A couple of observers were now looking at the commotion by Meadow.

"I'm just saying, wouldn't it be more convenient to appoint a commander _before_ rushing off to slice off heads or bang metal on metal or whatever you cheetahs do?"

Meadow glared at him sternly. The impromptu ceremony was closing up. The dragonfly picked at Meadow's tunic, causing the cheetah to fidget. Sparx glanced at the chief.

"Oh, I answered my own question. Of course ol' Prowly wouldn't do something so convenient. After all, nothing ever turns out that way. Look at my entire adventure with Spyro! Monsters that want to kill us at every little corner we turn. Completely natural! After all, who doesn't remember that time a couple days ago before Spyro rushed off− who knows where he is now, by the way− when we had to go all the way to the other end of Avalar to fetch some stupid raft to carry you a couple meters to the village, all the while being attacked by those idiotic grublins, all because that ol' stubborn Prowly was being a moronic nincompoop."

Meadow lowered his ears in shock. "Sparx, lower your voice, you do realize that you're yelling!"

The flashing dragonfly looked at Meadow, then to Prowlus, who was looking in Meadow's direction in disbelief. Sparx made a strange expression before emitting a single, "Oh."

Thirty minutes passed before there was any organization in the ranks of the dragons and moles. As they numbered far greater than the cheetahs, the ensuing slower escape from the caverns was only natural. The grass was now a sea of brown fur and scales of every color. Terrador could be seen shifting through the crowd, moving towards two older, bickering dragons in the distance by the cavern. As he neared, he could just pick up their argument.

"Now, now Volteer," began an elegantly shaped blue dragon, talking slowly. "There are no grounds on which you may base that assumption. Spyro, Cynder, and Ignitus should have been here by now."

"But-but-but Cyril, would it not be prudent, sagacious, even tactical to pose the hypothesis that in the instance that the dragons were flying at the average rate of speed at the distance of fourteen point three four kilometers that they might have alighted to our current position at this very instant in time?"

Cyril sneered at the bright yellow guardian. "You need to stay up later at night, Volteer. It might save us all the peril of having to listen to your blabber." He narrowed his eyes conceitedly. "On second thought, don't. I do not want to be kept awake by an overexcited fool."

"Cyril! The moments do not necessitate such a grandiose yet bombastic display of disdain. Perhaps _you_ are sleep deprived. Your pompously flaunting recommendations for me suggest the likes and I for one−"

Terrador stepped in at this point. "Volteer! Cyril! Enough of this nonsense! If you had not been so busy arguing amongst yourselves, you may have noticed the changes in the horizon."

Volteer stepped forward excitedly. "Changes? What revolutionary metamorphoses are these? Might I hyp−"

A warning glance from Cyril cut him off. Terrador resumed as if nothing had happened.

"Shapes are visible on the horizon, two shapes, and we all know what we are waiting for. Cyril, could you find Sparx and bring him here. Hopefully he hasn't gotten himself into too much mischief. Volteer, you should come with me. We shall all meet at the edge of the cliff. If they are indeed Spyro and Cynder, Sparx can always flag them down to our standing point. I, for one, hope that Ignitus is not far behind them."

Reluctantly, Cyril turned to pace over to the commotion at the far end of the plateau where he could see a yellow glow. Before leaving, he swiveled his head to face Volteer. "We shall resume debate later in a manner worthy of _respectable_ guardians."

By the time that Cyril had managed to separate Sparx from the brewing argument over on the cheetahs' side, the two silhouettes of dragons in the morning sky were clear enough to identify. Sparx watched the two figures near the cliff, trembling with excitement.

"I knew it! I knew they could do it!" yelled Sparx as the two neared in for landing.

Firmly on the ground, Spyro rushed to the dragonfly, allowing him to come to a rest on his head. "I missed you, Sparx," said Spyro.

"You never should have left without me!" he exclaimed in reply.

"You know that you would never have lasted in the Belt of Fire. I could barely stand the heat." Spyro stretched his legs while looking around at the procession.

Sparx glanced down indignantly. "Well, you know what? You… you look like you've gained weight since last time," was all that he could manage.

Spyro raised an eyebrow, causing Sparx to slide down his neck. "For the record, it hasn't been _that_ long since we last saw each other."

"Have you had enough brotherly reunion yet?" asked Cynder. "If you haven't noticed, the guardians are waiting to speak to us."

Embarrassed, Spyro trotted over to the sitting guardians, Sparx hanging on for dear life on a stray scale. The guardians were everything he had remembered them to be: noble, wise, and kind-hearted… at least two of them. A rush of water in his ears from the outlying flood over the cliff, Spyro bowed respectfully to the three dragons, a pang entering his heart that one of their number was not present.

Terrador beamed at Spyro. "You've done more than we ever hoped… for everyone. I want you to be proud of yourself Spyro. No dragon in history can honestly boast of your feats." He turned to Cynder. "I expect no less from you, Cynder. You come from a dark past, but your conscious actions have accounted for your involuntary actions a hundred times over."

Both dragons looked positively pleased, though Cynder blinked several more times than was necessary. Sparx had finally recovered from the Spyro's jolt.

"Now, where in the world would those two miscreants be if I hadn't been with them the entire time!" the dragonfly shouted.

Cynder smirked, tail flicking dangerously. "Oh, your moral support certainly fueled me. I never remembered feeling more motivated in my life." Her sarcastic tone changed. "I didn't see you go through the Belt, now, did I?"

Cyril piped up before Sparx could give Cynder a rebuttal. "Yes, happy times, happy memories, but we have business to which we must attend. Enough with the sappy feelings."

"I am afraid Cyril is right," Terrador remarked. "We must head back to the Dragon City and assess the damages of the war. The flight should not be far from here. We have already plotted course and are readying for departure. We will leave as soon as Ignitus arrives." Too late, Terrador realized the possibility that Ignitus would not be coming back. "He _is_ on his way, isn't he?"

Spyro's head drooped gloomily. Cynder looked away, then began to polish her tail-blade. "We couldn't have gotten through the Belt of Fire without him," Spyro began. "He sacrificed himself so that we could pass. He knew it…" he paused. "HE KNEW IT!"

Even Cyril flinched when Spyro suddenly bellowed. Cynder moved fearfully toward him, eyes fixated on his scales, watching for them to darken. Sparx flew a distance away, muttering something about babies and temper tantrums.

Quickly, Terrador jumped in. "Woah, young dragon. You mustn't let your feelings dictate your actions. A warrior who does such is an unstable warrior at best. What did Ignitus know?"

Spyro slowly relaxed, anger fading from his eyes. Relieved to see that Spyro had not undergone any physical changes, Cynder went back to touching up her tail-blade again.

Resigning himself glumly again, Spyro resumed, "He… he told us that he was sacrificing himself for the wrongs that he had done both of us, Cynder and me, in the past. He just p-p-pushed us through and then he was s-swallowed by the flame."

Tears glistened at Spyro's eyes. They ran in rivulets down his chin. He had never even had the time to mourn Ignitus. It had been a constant battle from that moment on. Cynder inched closer to Spyro.

"And what happened after that?" Terrador inquired, reluctant to push the purple dragon further but certain that he needed to know this information now.

Blinking back the tears, Spyro sat down. "We− I couldn't accept that he was gone. I don't really remember exactly how I reacted… it's almost as if I can't even remember anything that happened after that moment."

Although Spyro spoke the truth, he did have a hunch about what he had done. He gave Cynder a worried glance. She mouthed, "_Should I tell them?_" Mesmerizing violet irises filled her vision until Spyro finally gave a nod of his head. Volteer had already started to squint inquisitively before Cynder began to relate Spyro's greatest secret, one that only Cynder, Sparx, and Spyro himself knew. They had simply never had the chance to mention the problem with the guardians.

The black dragoness shuffled uncomfortably before starting her account. "Spyro has this... well, side of him that was brought out on the Night of Eternal Darkness. What happened on that night, when Gaul, the Ape King, lured Spyro in, has had a permanent effect on him. I wasn't present at the time it occurred since Gaul and Spyro− erm− sort of fell through the ground, but−"

"Sort of?" Sparx interrupted. "I saw them. They _literally _fell through the ground."

Volteer couldn't resist. "E-excuse me, but is 'literally' not a totally and entirely erroneously inaccurate method to express −"

"Please," growled Cyril, eyes flints of ice. "This discussion is digressing. We need to know about Spyro's state, and we can't do that if you two flibbertigibbets− there's a new word for you− keep interrupting."

At any rate, Cynder's glare was enough to cut Sparx off for the next few minutes, if not longer. She spoke again. "After they fell, Sparx was by my side, and I was still recuperating, just watching the light of the Convexity. We could hear extremely loud explosions from below, but there was no way that we could have touched down safely with all of the fog and flying debris from below. Soon after the ground had broken, the celestial moons had reached their eclipse, and the Convexity was stronger than ever. We suspect that Spyro was in the center of the reflector glass when the Convexity reached full volume."

Terrador gasped, his mace-tail growing all the more frantic and drawing scratches through the ground. "That is worse than what I originally imagined when you started telling this story. Please, don't listen to me yet. Continue. We must know any other details that you may share with us, especially how Spyro reacted after he absorbed this Convexity strip. You are doing an excellent job so far."

Still listening, Spyro took on a concerned expression. Hearing all of the talk of his state, though he already knew, was creating fear in his heart.

Cynder didn't need to be prompted to pick up her story. "We heard a horrible screeching noise, as if time itself was in reverse. That, and a great crack. Before this crack, Gaul had been making quite a racket, but we could sense no more of him. The Well was quiet for a long time after that, except for the pulsing of the Convexity. Then, a great… darkness rose from the crevice that Gaul and Spyro had fallen through. And we saw… We saw that Spyro was in the center of that darkness, and he had an emotionless, piercing white gaze, not his at all."

Still haunted by that night, Spyro shivered. Even Sparx, who had been tugging up grass out of boredom and tying little straw animals, seemed fazed. Terrador stared intently ahead, mind deep in thought.

"Both Sparx and I could see that he was raring to attack us, to… kill us. His scales were no longer purple, but foggy with some kind of darkness. We could see the Convexity just accumulating in his mouth. I just decided that I had to act there and then, so I pushed him out of the moon beam."

"I see," said Terrador lightly, still pensive.

"So, back to the Belt of Fire, after Ignitus… passed away… Spyro wanted to return, to save him. He would have dragged me into the fire with him− thank the heavens those chains are gone," Cynder added with a sigh of relief. "Not that I wanted to leave you, Spyro."

The purple dragon grinned back half-heartedly, grateful for her support. He suddenly recalled that fateful moment in the volcano, when he had heard the three words that meant most to him. "_I love you._" Still wondering if it even could have been real, he daydreamed about the past.

"So sentimental, yes, we realize that," the snide voice of Cyril interrupted. "Resume."

"I tried to convince him otherwise, knowing the sort of relationship he'd had with Ignitus. Then, he underwent the same… transformation… that he'd had in the Well of Souls, except this time, there was no outer source, no Convexity, and he would have pulled me to my death if I hadn't known what to say to him."

While Sparx, who hadn't heard of this last dark episode, dropped the straw model Deathwing he had been crafting, Terrador nodded calmly. "From my understanding, these dark episodes have occurred to lesser dragons than yourself," he remarked, as Spyro cocked his head interestedly. "Much observation into this subject had gone on before the time of the apes, much observation. You see, Convexity is found on Earth in more abundance than most would think. It would be a miracle to find that any one being living on the planet had not been touched at one time or another by the Convexity."

"And now, you're going to tell us that this is the reason why so many of you are mental," quipped Sparx.

Cyril unsheathed a single claw. "I most strongly object to that statement."

"The problem seemed to arise in dragons who had an abnormally high amount of Convexity exposure," explained Terrador. "We often had a bit of a challenge finding dragons such as these, as the condition was relatively rare. Spyro, I'm afraid that you may be one of them."

"Woah, woah, woah! First you tell Spyro he's a _special_ purple thingamajig and now you're saying that he's ill!" Sparx shot. "What is wrong here?"

Spyro sighed, drawing his claws through the mud. "You're not making this any easier for me, Sparx." He turned to Terrador. "What is going to happen to me? What have I become?"

"Nonsense," Cynder said reassuringly. "You're the same to me, and you always will be."

"N-now that we have classified the malady," stuttered Volteer, tripping over his tongue, "we may have it within our able capacities to conclude the p-probable prognosis."

When Sparx's eyes glazed in confusion, Cynder took it as her responsibility to translate for Volteer. "He means that the guardians may know what might happen to Spyro."

"My god, why doesn't he just say that! He doesn't have to speak in gibberish!" Sparx exclaimed, tossing his tiny hands in the air.

"So what exactly happened to the Convexity dragons?" asked Spyro.

Terrador squinted in the direction of the distant mountain, acknowledging the obliterated temple in the distance. "Some of them overcame their problems. We don't know how yet, but these dragons tended to be strong of mind and generally much more content with life."

Spyro looked down at the scratch-marks in the grass. "And the others that were affected by the Convexity? What about them?"

"Well… they lost themselves, so to speak. Their bodies ceased to obey their own will, and the balance of light and darkness within their very souls begins to diffuse." Noticing Spyro's suddenly fearful appearance, Terrador quickly added, "However, I have never heard of the effects of Convexity on the purple dragon, since there have only been two in history."

"But Terrador," Cynder cut in. "Wasn't Malefor a Convexity-addled dragon? He was after all quite abnormal− evil beside the point. How could anyone wish for such retribution that they would want to destroy the world itself?"

"Young dragoness, it has been attempted before by sober minds. Nevertheless, you just stated exactly what Ignitus had alleged, that Malefor's actions were not his own."

Spyro was by now feeling devastated. "But what if that happens to me? I'm not like Malefor, am I? What if I can't hold on?"

The earth guardian smiled sympathetically. "You must understand, Spyro, Ignitus had a great deal of faith in you. He knew that you wielded great power, not only in the body, but in the mind. For that matter, we all do. For now, you must believe in yourself. My fellow guardians and I will all be searching for a cure. After all, Warfang has an extensive library. If we are to overcome this challenge, we need to believe in each other… every one of us."

By the time that the five dragons had finished discussing the night before, the cheetah clan had already begun the march back to the Valley of Avalar. Spyro was disappointed not to have greeted Hunter and Meadow, but Prowlus had been more than insistent on returning to the valley with the new commander and the healer to make reparations. The three guardians now stood at the head of the convention of dragons, all faces attentive. Spyro and Cynder gathered together at the side of the crowd, standing next to a rather large ice dragon wearing a helm studded with amethyst. The features on his face looked unnaturally faultless, as if a sculptor had carved them, placing in gleaming sapphire eyes. The dragon gave them a good-natured nod before settling down.

"Congratulations, Spyro," the ice dragon said, startling his two neighbors. "We are all indebted to you."

Spyro wasn't quite accustomed to being praised by dragons with which even he wasn't acquainted. "Er, thanks," he muttered weakly.

"I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself properly. My name is Murdoch, Lieutenant General of the Army of Warfang. Pleased to meet you." He winked pretentiously, though he put on a good-natured smile.

"_Are all ice dragons as pompous as Cyril?_" wondered Spyro before focusing his attention towards the approaching guardians. Terrador, as always the leader, bunched his haunches and leapt onto a great rock in the center of the clearing. Unable to maintain such a relatively low position for long, Cyril helped himself to the rock as well.

Raising his head to the sky, Terrador released a tremendous roar, silencing all around him. "We have several issues in need of clarification!" the earth guardian bellowed. "Firstly, where have all of the moles vanished to?"

Murdoch rose to his feet as quick as a bullet. He replied, "The moles gathered and left for Warfang. I expect that they want to return to assess the damages and begin restoration. Mason, Head of Construction, was their leader."

Terrador nodded and paced in front of Cyril, who sneered, irritated. "Mason did the right thing. We owe much to the moles for their battle efforts." Terrador paused. "But now, we need to address the issue of dragons. Where is everyone?"

A mere thirty dragons, including Spyro and Cynder, the only two adolescents, peered from side to side. An earth dragoness in a group of three to four Warfang warriors waved for acknowledgement.

"I know for a fact that at least half of our original number left to find their relatives outside of Warfang because they thought that the end was near. My brother, for one, wanted to see my uncle, who lives in the uplands, one last time." The green dragoness stopped for a moment to adjust the bronze anklets above her knees with her teeth. "I'm inclined to believe that the remainder perished in the battle with the Destroyer…"

"These are bad tidings, very bad tidings," muttered Terrador. "We must not lose hope, nonetheless. The population of Warfang is considerably smaller than the entire race of dragons. We know that they are out there. Many a citizen fled during the Night of the Raid as well as many others during the countless ape attacks which followed. Besides, there are other civilizations that may be convinced to help in the effort to uphold the noble races of Warfang. In the future, we shall have to appoint search parties. The size of Warfang will be simply too hard to maintain with such a small population of both dragons and moles."

Cyril took the initiative to speak up. "The Dragon City is not far from the ruined dam. Now that Malefor no longer had sentries posted, thanks to Spyro and Cynder−" He broke off as an indignant yellow light lined up with his face. "−we do not have to take the underground passage as the moles did. We should fly back immediately to aid the moles in any manner possible. Warfang must resume business, and frankly, I am positive that most of you want the luxuries of your own homes."

A cheer rang across the field, and the dragons were rising to their feet. "We are to conduct ourselves in the diffuse point one thirty five degrees to the oxidizing star in order to approach the most ravishing metropolis of Warfang," spattered Volteer.

Cyril flared a nostril. "What my colleague intends to say is 'All fly southwest.'"


	3. Swampification

Without further ado, the dragons of Warfang stretched their wings, pointing their heads toward the azure sky. Spyro and Cynder sidled away from Murdoch, whose wingspan could have been longer than the cumulative height of four to five cheetahs. Battle helm amethysts shining vigorously in the sunlight, Murdoch was the first to leap from the ground. Spyro and Cynder soon followed, taking off around the same time as the bronze-clad earth dragoness who had spoken earlier.

Soon, the clearing overlooking the river was deserted completely, restored to former peace and quiet. The only evidence of the war refugees were ubiquitous claw-marks through the wind-blown heather and the round indentation of paw-prints where Hunter had been appointed commander. Sparx stole a look back at the dam, where a headless stone dragon upheld a broken stone curtain. He effortlessly followed after the return party.

The green dragoness, still in line with Spyro and Cynder, laughed, "I see that you two children are never going to get a break, eh?"

Slightly indignant at being called a child, Cynder replied, "Nope, I don't foresee that in our near future."

Unabashed, the warrior of earth craned her neck. "I am Sabina. Isn't it funny how you guys don't even have to introduce yourselves? You're just that famous!"

"Infamous, more like," muttered Cynder, an unusual glare in her eyes.

"What's gotten under your scales, oh dark one?" asked Sparx, who had finally caught up with the group.

"Shut up," Cynder shot back mockingly, veering slightly off course and snapping at Sparx playfully.

"Do you miss your brother?" Spyro asked Sabina while Cynder corrected course. "I heard you talking about him earlier."

"Yes, I suppose I can honestly say that I do," responded Sabina. "We have our differences, but I guess I will always love him. The only thing is that he can be a bit brash sometimes, being a dragon of fire."

"Wait, I didn't know that you could be related to someone not of earth," said Spyro curiously.

Sabina appeared taken aback to learn this fact. "Well of course it's possible!" she replied heatedly. "It happens all the time. My mother and her brother were of the element of electricity, but neither my brother nor I carry a spark in our bodies."

Inter-element relations were new concepts for Spyro. As he had grown up in a swamp around dragonflies, he had never been able to observe inheritance among dragons. Also having been fostered under dragonflies, he took for granted the absence of parents, never having thought of the possibility that his birth parents could still be alive. Spyro briefly fantasized over the types of elements that his family may have wielded.

Breaking Spyro from his trance, Sabina said thoughtfully, "My, do I hope that Berk found Uncle Enric." When she saw the others' confused expressions, she added, "Berk is my brother. He is older than me, but sometimes I worry about him."

Cynder still had that unearthly sour expression about her face. Spyro thought that her mood seemed familiar to him, as if he had sensed it many times, though he had never experienced Cynder in this state. Shifting through his memories, he struggled to remember. Then, it struck him. Cynder was _jealous_ that he was talking to Sabina. Why should she be though? Wasn't he simply having a friendly discussion with a new acquaintance?

Sabina noticed nothing and did not relent from telling her audience about her brother. "I should probably ask the guardians if I can go and search for him. Then again, when we have such a small population, it makes me wonder whether or not I should be leaving." Suddenly, the green dragoness's eye's brightened as if she had an idea. "Didn't Terrador say that he wanted to appoint search parties? I should question him right now!"

Without further ado, Sabina folded her wings in to reduce air resistance and accelerated towards the leading group. Cynder closed the gap quickly as if she didn't want another dragon to replace Sabina.

"Doesn't Sabina sound like she is rushing off to interrogate Terrador?" spat Cynder.

Spyro narrowed his amethyst eyes. "Of course, that's what she said that she was doing, didn't she?"

Sighing, the dark dragoness chose to remain silent and watch as Sabina shot between Murdoch and an elderly fire dragon.

"Are we there yet?" piped in an exasperated Sparx.

After flying for well over half an hour, the dragons were finally nearing their destination. Everyone in the return party could see the ocean glistening in welcome on the horizon, and soon, marble pillars rose from behind the hills. Murdoch, still in the lead, gave the order for everybody to land just outside the city. Warfang seemed oddly desolate without any creature to be seen in the hallowed streets.

"Where are all of the moles?" Cynder wondered aloud, twisting her legs into a dive.

As Spyro mirrored his partner's movements, his mind was on the same wavelength. There wasn't a mole to be seen in all of Warfang, and their group had left well before the dragons on a shorter, more direct route.

The group aimed for the grassy plain to the east of the city. The moment that Spyro touched base with the seemingly solid ground, there was a squelch as his paws sank several inches into the silt. Muddy water sprayed into his face and eyes, blinding his view.

Sparx reeled up to avoid being knocked out of the air by the flying droplets as others had a similar experience to Spyro's. "Oh, just like home," observed the dragonfly dryly.

"I think I cut my wrist on a sharp rock!" complained a voice in the crowd.

Further on in the muddy soup of writhing bodies, Cyril had received the brunt of the muddy splash. To his left, Volteer seemed to be having the time of his life.

"Aha, not so self-assured now that we are incased in decomposing humus, are we?" giggled Volteer as Cyril struggled to lift a foreleg from the ground.

Terrador was just as perplexed as the others as to the state of the ground. "What have we here? Has Warfang turned into a swamp?" he asked to nobody in particular.

"We're supposed to land on the ground, not go through the ground," said Murdoch wistfully, wiping the dirt off of his helmet. "Pride of Warfang's army we are here, huh?"

In the midst of mud-bathed scales, an electricity dragon cried out, "Look, there are the moles, up on that hill!"

All heads turned to a rolling hummock just above the median of the soggy grass. They could see a gathering of what seemed to be all of the moles in the city. None of them were making any movements to near the entrance to the city.

Cynder, her spikes no longer lucent white but dark brown, heaved her hind legs out of a swamp bubble. "If only we could have landed there, it would have saved us a heap of trouble."

Spyro grinned as the other dragons began to slowly trudge across the mud bath. "I bet you couldn't beat me there," he challenged mischievously.

"You realize that you've never beaten me in a race before," joked Cynder.

"There's always a first," said Spyro as he suddenly darted in the direction of the moles.

Even with a head-start, Spyro was no match for Cynder. Not only was Cynder leaner and lighter-weighted, but she was trained in stealth as opposed to Spyro, whose battle tactics were up-close and personal. While the black dragoness blithely tapped her toes on the surface, Spyro forced himself to lift leg for leg, the suction pulling him under.

"This isn't even funny," observed Sparx, hovering somewhere in-between the gap before yelling, "Spyro, what have you been eating?"

The moment that Cynder had touched the base of the hill, out of range of the murky slush, her purple adversary still struggled to heave his paws out of the ground. When he finally reached her, Cynder glimpsed down smugly.

"Bet you'll think twice before trying that again," she snickered, licking the dirt off.

The largest dragons, having had the most trouble bypassing hidden swamp bubbles, were finally closing in to the hill.

Sparx glimpsed back at the stone city. "Man, do I want to know why this place has gone to the dogs. I mean, it looks like the dump of a temple that Malefor flung up into the sky." He stopped for a moment, thinking. "Is it just me, or do major evil criminal masterminds have a habit of doing things like that?"

"I don't know, but I think we're about to find out," said Spyro, who had spotted an approaching mole with a construction hat.

Mason, Head of Construction in Warfang, sidled up to the guardians, who had begun to climb the hill. "It's good to see some friendly faces again," he admitted, looking up at Terrador. "Please, follow me. We have a bit of bad news to tell you."

The mole, disgruntled, started back up the slope with a beckoning of his hand. From what Spyro could see, the moles were erecting some manner of settlement, supported by wooden poles and sheltered with cloth tarps.

Mason motioned to Spyro and Cynder apologetically. "'Fraid these are the best holdings we can offer our two heroes.

"What's wrong with Warfang?" inquired Spyro before Sparx could summon up his tirade on the importance of dragonflies. "It looks perfectly fine from here."

Mason grunted, "Well, looks can be deceiving. It is totally uninhabitable."

"That can't be. Can't we just check it out ourselves?" Cynder asked curiously.

The architect snorted irritably. "Don't you know what uninhabitable means? You're just going to have to wait until the rest of you dragons gets up here so that I only have to make my report once."

When the last dragon, the ancient maroon elder that Murdoch had flown beside, had come within earshot, Cyril, now fuming at the state of his hide, sighed impatiently. "Can we hurry along now? I don't want to stand out here and bake all day long."

"Keep yer' horns on," growled Mason. "Now, I want you to meet my associate, who handles the utility systems in Warfang."

A nervous-looking mole who had been whistling idly by one of the makeshift settlements rose to his feet.

"I want 'yer all to meet Shad. He's a good friend of mine," Mason spoke solemnly.

Shad waved in greeting. "Nice… nice to meet you all," he stammered before seemingly getting his bearings and turning to Spyro and Cynder. "I must tell you before I start, I owe my lives to these two. If they hadn't saved me from a fiery blast during the Battle, I may not be standing here before you all."

Spyro ducked his head meekly, while Cynder held her gaze and nodded in welcome. Sparx settled onto Spyro's head. "I have to say, you can't really tell these moles apart," he whispered.

Taking his construction goggles off for a few seconds to wipe the grease off, Shad continued. "As you may have noticed, the earth in this area is no longer stable."

Cyril grumbled sourly, "May have noticed, he says."

Shad ignored the ice guardian. "We have confirmed our suspicions recently and evaluated the water supply. The aqueduct which draws water from the dam has been completely shattered."

"You guys had an aqueduct? How come you never told us about it?" demanded Sparx.

Cynder sighed, exasperated. "Let's see. We had grublins and orcs attacking us from all sides, Malefor was about to destroy the world, and the city was already about in ruins! Is that good enough for you?"

"Sheesh, I was only wondering," Sparx responded.

"The water− which is still leaking from the shaft, mind you−," explained Shad, "has filled the water table to ground level in this area, which is the cause of the… erm−"

"Swampification?" Sparx chipped in.

"I suppose you could call it that," shrugged Shad. "The point is, the ancestors made a slight mistake in building the city in this location. Their original intention in the placement of the city was to maintain proximity to fertile soil and thus farmland, namely the silt that you see here. However, as silt has such a fine grain size, the water has caused it to dissolve."

"Cutting to the chase," Mason interrupted, "the city is sinking through the silt."

Terrador narrowed his eyes. "How long does Warfang have before the cobblestone falls beneath the surface?"

"I'd give it couple of days," estimated Mason. "You see, under ideal conditions, the city likely wouldn't budge an inch for several years due to the pressure of such an enormous object. However, the aqueduct was not the only object to shatter in the explosion."

"T-that's preposterous," cut in Volteer. "You are absolutely ultraprecise in hypothesizing that the prodigiously monumental graduate of the metropolis in question surmounts the encumbrance of the outlying medium. Only a tremendously stupendous force could induce such stimulus."

"Volteer, have you ever considered concision?" chided Cyril.

"In answer to your statement," said Shad, clearly unfazed by Volteer's language," the force of the global explosion was quite sufficient to break Warfang into dragon-sized chunks. At this very moment, the pieces of Warfang are sliding past each other, into the silt."

"But the Warfang archive−" Terrador broke in worriedly, "countless generations have written their experiences and documented a history of triumphs and failures of the First Age."

"Well, the place isn't even going to be visible in a week or so. We moles can tell you with present technology that the bedrock is unusually deep in this plain," Mason sniffed. "If you're going to be rescuing any books, you'd better do it now."

Cyril did not appear impressed. "Where on the bloody earth are we going to put all of those books even if we rescue them from the city?"

"We only have a measly sixty citizens counting both moles and dragons, only half of them with opposable thumbs. How are we going to get all of those dusty tomes out of there in time anyway?" pouted Murdoch.

"Where there is a will, there is a way," affirmed Terrador.

"I don't like this guy's tone of voice," Sparx complained.

Meadow strolled merrily along the path with Hunter, inhaling the fresh and dewy smells of the forest. After the long and crippling battle, the peace of the forest glade seemed unreal, a faint dream. Without warning, Chief Prowlus raised a rounded paw, signaling the travelling band to stop and fall silent. He beckoned to Hunter, who stalked to the front, drawing his bow.

For several minutes, no cheetah made a sound. A distant galloping gradually became audible, drawing in closer with every second. Hunter prepped an arrow, drawing back the string. Beige and crème colors poked from behind foliage as a group of four-legged animals shot through the forest in a sprint.

A herd of gazelle-like animals exploded from the brush siding of the forest walkway. Hunter, brisk as the cheetah that he was, closed one eye and lined up the arrow with the other. He released, feeling the polished wood of the tribal projectile slide past his pads.

One of the animals emitted an uncanny shriek before slamming into a tree and falling to the ground. Hunter leapt from his position and slammed the beast with his dagger, wanting to make a clean kill before the animal could feel any more pain. Once his query breathed no more, Hunter let loose and bent as if making a wedding proposal.

"We recognize and uphold the gift of life that a vicugna lends to our tribe," recited Hunter. "May your sacrifice sustain the life-force of many others."

"Well-caught," Prowlus praised with an approving nod. "And more importantly, well-blessed."

Two blue-furred cheetahs bent over to carry the carcass, hoisting the weighty vicugna over their shoulders.

A brawny gray cheetah hustled over to Hunter and slapped him on the back. "What a fine job, Commander Hunter, sir," he said almost mockingly as Hunter strapped the bow across his shoulder.

"The day that you call me Commander like that and get away unscathed, my friend, is a sad day for us all," Hunter retorted with a knowing gleam in his eye.

"Oh, I see that you're owning up to your title now. Only a couple minutes ago, you were telling us that nothing is different, that there is no reason for us to treat you '_like a higher being_,'" rambled the cheetah, unmistakably relishing taunting Hunter.

Hunter lifted his hood, following Meadow through the winding trail. "Drake, shouldn't you be attending to the chief as is the role of the personal bodyguard?" Hunter questioned.

Before Drake could protest, Hunter added, "Oh well, at least Lark doesn't shirk her duties."

"I will get you back for this, Commander," promised Drake with a mischievous grin, jogging to the front of the line.

Hunter bit his lip, halfway in amusement and halfway out of irritation. Drake was infamous for his obnoxious attitude, but the fearlessness that he displayed in the battle had earned him a greater respect among the tribe, if only a slight amount.

The sleek blue-gray female to the other side of Hunter pointed in the distance. "We're home, everyone!" she shouted with an expression of delight.

"You know, I've always admired your eyesight, Aspen," complimented Hunter. The cheetah was still curious as to why Prowlus had chosen this path, scenery or not. The route through the Forbidden Tunnel from Warfang would have been much faster, and they would have been able to give the dragons a final farewell before resuming their lives. "_Then again, maybe the dragons were the reason for Prowlus' decision,_" thought Hunter. "_We are allies now. This is no time to be proud_."

When the group, at least fifty strong, had finally reached the village, the cheetahs could see that the buildings would be no easy task to repair. Several of the open huts where villagers took residence were completely obliterated, others in danger of falling at any moment. None of the repair teams had had sufficient time to patch the damages from the attack of the grublins and wyverns before the war had called them from their obligation.

The two cheetahs carrying Hunter's vicugna stumbled towards a bamboo storage bin and dropped their load.

One of them called to Chief Prowlus. "Sir, our spice stock has been raided! We can't cure meat without the spices!"

Prowlus frowned. "We can collect salt from the caves of the hermit," he recommended. "Just don't travel too deep into the depths, as the spirits within could pose a threat."

Hunter knew all too well of the transparent skeletal figures, remnants of the greed of the apes before Malefor cursed them in anger. He continued to brood as the chief gestured to the entire village.

"We must attend to business as we did before!" he shouted imperiously.

Prowlus pointed towards a group of five. "You, commence reconstruction on the settlements," he commanded, then spun to face his guards. "Drake, I want you to lead a hunting party and restock as much of the bin as possible. Lark, you can do the same, but please ensure that you spread your hunters as far away as possible from Drakes'."

Drake and Lark, a well-muscled female feline, nodded obediently before choosing their party members. Prowlus, however, was not finished. This time, he addressed Meadow.

"Healer Meadow, I would like for you to assess the state of the herbs by Waterfall Crevice as well as bring back some of the phosphorous accumulation so that we may ignite fires more easily. I also want you to collect herbs for the curing store, including ginger root, root of burdock, comfrey, lobelia, and cumin. Take Commander Hunter with you as a bodyguard, and I will elect one volunteer to travel with you to aid in collection and transportation."

"As for the cats not chosen by Drake or Lark," added Chief Prowlus. "You may stay here and guard camp while assisting in repair efforts. Now, who is willing to travel to Waterfall Crevice with Commander Hunter and Healer Meadow?"

Prowlus gazed solemnly around the attentive group. Although many members eventually raised their hands, Aspen was the first.

"Very well," said the chief. "Everyone, to work!"

As everyone set off in their own directions, Hunter, Meadow, and Aspen sauntered towards the Waterfall Crevice, the cave where Spyro and Cynder had rescued Meadow. Although clouds had begun to cover the sky, the beauty of the Valley could not be outdone. While various finches and colorful birds sang in the trees, rodents were also seen scrabbling at fallen seeds and nuts.

"_Aspen is clearly enjoying herself_," observed Hunter, flicking his ears at the afternoon gnats. The slender cheetah with watery brown eyes was not really a warrior in strict sense. In fact, female fighters were quite rare in the cheetah tribe, Lark being one of those exemptions; however, Aspen was familiar with basic defensive maneuvers with a staff, the choice weapon of training in the Avalar custom.

Meadow fiddled with a small dagger that he had brought to uproot plants, his own staff in his other hand. "Can we stop here?" requested the healer. "I see wild cumin."

"How can you tell from all of these weeds which plant is cumin?" asked Aspen.

Meadow smiled good-naturedly. "Cumin flowers, the pale pink petals that you see here, grow in bunches called umbels," explained Meadow. "The leaf structure is thread-like, and the fruit grows as a single seed. It looks very similar to dill or parsley except for the leaf structure, the general flower geometry, and the stalk."

Aspen listened attentively, taking note of the healer's every word, while Hunter kept a watch on the outlying forests, somewhat on edge.

"These plants, by the look of them, have already dried in the sun," Meadow said. "You can see this if you look closely at the burnt edges of the leaves. Now, I am going to do a process called threshing so that we don't have to carry a mass of cumin leaves that we won't need. I already have some supplies that I brought with me."

The mellow cheetah removed a fishnet from a cloth pouch dangling from his waist, as well as a small metal canister crafted by a local blacksmith.

"Oh, and we are going to need something durable and rigid to break the harder seeds," he told Hunter. "Why don't you go and look for a good rock? Actually, two would do well."

Hunter dipped his head. "Of course."

While Hunter bent over to search for rocks, still keeping a weathered eye on the forest, Meadow wrapped the cumin in fishing net. "Seeing as we have a bunch of other herbs to gather, as I said, we're going to thresh this now. I do not have the appropriate tools to perform threshing accurately, but we may improvise."

He took his staff and twirled it horizontally. "You can use this as a rolling pin. Bear down hard on the plant, and be intentional about it."

"Ah, Meadow, I think that I found a bit of granite," called out Hunter. He reached down to pick it up, but recoiled slightly when he realized that the entire mass was weightless.

Hunter walked back to Aspen and Meadow, who were now mashing the herb in the fishnet. "Look, I don't think that this is granite," Hunter speculated.

The healer continued working the seeds out of the cumin with Aspen. "I never said that you had to find a specific rock. Any hard object will do," he muttered distractedly.

"No, look here," repeated Hunter. "It is not a rock at all. It's animal fur."

"Okay, Aspen, just unwrap the bundle and see how many seeds my technique has managed to remove," commanded Meadow before turning to Hunter and noticing the gray-white fur. "Are you sure that that isn't from some passing vicugna or whatever other livestock wanders around here?"

"No," confirmed Hunter, determined. "You may know your plants, but I know my animals. Do you see how coarse the fibers are?"

Meadow raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying that this isn't from typical prey?"

Hunter, out of habit, chewed on his lower lip. "No, I'm saying that this isn't from any sort of prey. I don't recognize it myself."

"Are you sure?" asked Meadow again.

"Yes, I'm positive," replied Hunter, beginning to become impatient. "I've been having the feeling that something isn't quite right around here…"

Meadow did not respond, and Hunter chose not to bring the topic back up, though he pocketed the fur. The group foraged for hours, Aspen soaking in every word that Meadow said like a sponge while the healer pointed out various plants.

Hunter's mind wandered idly again as he considered the pretty feline. _"She's got potential, no doubt_. _It's only a question of where she will go in life, and I know that that place will be far_," he surmised.

Stopping to adjust a strap on his boots, Hunter kneeled to the ground. Suddenly, his ears pricked as he heard the snap of a twig in the distance.

The cheetah's nose twitched cautiously. "Hey, you two," he murmured to Aspen and Meadow. "I think that something is seriously wrong."

"Hunter, we all know that you are hypersensitive. Stop worrying!" giggled Aspen.

Deeply concerned now, Hunter scanned the forest for any signs of movement. There were always shadows moving in the outlying woods, so isolating any one movement from another was assuredly difficult.

Through the chatter of birds, the sound of an object stretching reached Hunter's ears. His eyes widened in fright, recognizing the noise for having heard almost every day of his life.

"DUCK DOWN, NOW!" yelled Hunter as the twang of an arrow leaving the string resonated through the clearing.

Cynder sighed in exhaustion. She, Spyro, and the others had been in and out of the ancient sinking archive more times than they wanted to count. The moles had devised an effective method of transporting the books involving a curved wooden plank which could be towed with rope by two dragons at once through the air− three to four for extra stability. The time was nearly evening, and the marble municipal was running out of time quickly.

All of the dragons had already begun to notice the soil drawing through the cracks that the moles had assured them would be present. All that Cynder could think about was of the waste of the toils of innumerable generations of dragons and moles. All of the secret passages, hidden works of art and gardens, and architecture would never be seen again by the dragon race or any other living being.

"First floor's cleared out!" shouted Murdoch, who was heading the operations.

Sparx, who had been floating and watching the process idly for the entire day, started tutting. "Yup, one down, a hundred thousand to go."

"Hey, now young dragonfly, I would estimate that number closer to eight. It's not that much!" Sabina remarked, tossing her head as she reached to pick up her load.

Flaring her dark nostrils, Cynder snorted just loud enough for Sabina to hear. Why did the poor excuse for a dragoness have to nose into every little thing? And furthermore, why had so many of her friends, especially Spyro, fallen for her falsely charming attitude? She could see through Sabina's façade well enough to know that the dragoness was up to no good.

Murdoch called Cynder impatiently, gesturing to a book support with an electricity dragon holding one rope. "I can see that you have things on your mind, but don't make Theosus wait any longer, Cynder."

"Ok, so-_ree_," retorted Cynder, angry that the ice dragon had interrupted her train of thought.

"It's for the good of the library and under Terrador's orders," claimed Murdoch, head held high. His gaze softened. "Please tell me if anything is wrong, Cynder. You may not know me very well, but I would only be too happy to help."

Yeah, right, as if she could throw a diatribe at the bronze-plated dragoness right in her presence. Still fuming, she dragged the plank down the plush maroon carpet with the electricity dragon. Rope in mouth, neither dragon could speak, so the pair silently trudged through the door and pulled the contraption into the air.

The flight back to the mole camp was awkward at best, the yellow dragon throwing quick glances in Cynder's direction every few minutes. She could see Volteer, his vivid hide standing out in the grass, organizing the growing stacks of books. Cynder willed time to pass more rapidly.

As the pair neared the ground slowly, Cynder felt the cord slipping out of her teeth. Desperately twitching her head, she tried to get a firmer grip, but the cable was out of hand. The entire cargo slid off of the plank as Cynder's side slanted. Books tumbled from all sides, several of the heavier volumes colliding with Volteer's head in a sight that would have been comical given the situation. A couple of leather-bound journals toppled from the hillock, landing smack in the grassy soup. Horrified, her partner scanned the mass of books.

Utterly broken down, Cynder whimpered," I'm so sorry!"

Leaving Volteer muttering and stumbling about confusedly, the black dragoness took flight again, this time shooting behind one of the rafters that the moles had erected. Her eyes glistened before she took control and wiped them with her forearm. Cynder rarely cried or displayed her emotions, and she wasn't about to lose it completely.

Breathing deeply, Cynder waited for her mind to calm down. Behind the fabric in which she was hidden, the noises of books being shuffled around were barely audible. She also heard familiar voices, but she was in no state to respond or even attempt to comprehend them.

Before long, a compact ivory horn poked around the corner. The face that followed it was one of befuddlement. Spyro rounded the edge before lowering his head and walking towards Cynder cautiously.

"Are you okay?" he queried, sympathy brimming in his violet irises.

Cynder sighed before focusing on the ground. "Do I look okay?"

"What's wrong, Cynder?" Spyro asked, trying to be straightforward. "You've never acted like this before."

"Well obviously you haven't known me for very long," she scuffed, suddenly angry.

Spyro tried to lighten the mood with a smile. "You'd think that I would get to know somebody if I were to be trapped in a crystal with them for three years."

Meeting his eyes suspiciously, Cynder tilted her head to an angle. "You wouldn't be trying to buy me out by talking to me in pretty words, would you?"

"Actually, I am," he laughed, showing his sparkling set of teeth. "Is it working?"

Cynder tightened her jaw. "Yes," she admitted with a slight giggle.

Pleased to see that Cynder was acting somewhat more like herself, Spyro took the conversation back to the books. "What happened back there? Is it something that somebody said?"

Hesitating to respond, the dark dragoness weighted her options. She could either tell Spyro about Sabina, make an excuse, or lie.

"I d-don't−," she stammered before making a decision. She would have to tell the truth. Spyro was the first dragon that she had ever seen consciously, and they had been through too much to keep secrets from each other. However, before she could muster the strength to speak again, Spyro had already started.

"This isn't about Sabina, is it?"

Gasping, Cynder looked at him with wide eyes. "How did you know?"

"It isn't hard to see that you don't like her," Spyro confessed uncomfortably.

Cynder bowed her head as if in defeat. "It's just Sabina is so arrogant," she began. "She always acts like she's the big manager, that she's so much older than us."

"Well, she is older than us," Spyro observed.

Rolling her eyes, Cynder swatted at Spyro playfully. "No, duh."

Spyro opened his mouth as if he had thought of something. "Cynder, you don't suppose that you're jealous of Sabina. Maybe if you just got to know her," he suggested.

"Of course I'm not jealous! I can see right and wrong for myself, thanks," Cynder replied, taken aback.

"Sometimes it's not about right or wrong though. You know what? I think that you two just got off to the wrong start. What if you just apologized to her?"

Cynder appeared horrified at the idea. "Apologize to her?" she repeated harshly. "What have I done to merit an apology?"

Pushing closer to Cynder, Spyro nudged her gently. "It's all about diplomacy. You can either start a war or make peace."

"Since when have you been so wise?" she chuffed.

"Since I've had you tugging at my neck all the time," responded Spyro, chuckling at his reference to the snake chains.

Nestling closer to Spyro, Cynder felt that she never wanted to leave the purple dragon's side again. He seemed to know her like the back of his hand. She briefly wondered if he had heard her words in the volcano.

Volteer and Theosus had already re-organized the fallen books by the time that Spyro and Cynder had stepped out from behind the tarp. Cynder begged pardon from Volteer, who looked sternly at her, rubbing his sore head, but surprisingly did not exercise his rapid-fire tongue. Both of the dragons took off in the direction of the setting sun, back to the library archive. Terrador had ordered that they work until all books were removed, sleep being no exception.

As they neared the city, Spyro tapped Cynder's shoulder. "Look, I can't see the cobblestone in the city!" he exclaimed.

Cynder realized that he was right. The buildings were simply poking out of the ground like misshapen fungi.

"Look at the library. The first floor is completely sunken in," Cynder pointed out.

Spyro widened his eyes. "It looks like they punched the windows out as doors, too," he added.

They hovered into the hexagonal edifice through one of the windows rather than squeezing through the mud-filled foyer below.

Murdoch was the first presence to notice them. "I see that you've finally gotten back!" he called somewhat accusingly.

"Please forgive us," said Cynder. "We got held up.

"Your assistance is required," Murdoch replied. "We've all been working overtime in here to unload all of these books, and the silt level is closing in on our progress."

Walking to a nearby shelf filled with encyclopedias of the First Age, Spyro beckoned hastily to Cynder. "We can finish a load together."

"Where in the world have you been?" asked a voice, startling the two of them.

"Sparx, don't sneak up on me like that!" chided Spyro. "I was just helping Cynder with her book burden back at camp."

Sparx flitted around the shelf excitedly. "It's been so boring here. I want to do something."

"You know that you can always be a lantern," joked Cynder. "I'm sure they've got a little glass jar that we can shove you in lying somewhere around here."

"Hey, Cynder," Spyro whispered under his breath. "There's Sabina over there."

The earth dragoness was removing several volumes from an upper level and placing them on the plank.

"I am _not_ ready for this!" Cynder retorted.

Spyro sighed. "It's now or never. Get it over with."

With a disapproving glimpse back at Spyro, Cynder reluctantly set off in Sabina's direction, taking the stairs to the third level. When Sabina saw her, she immediately ceased any book lifting that she had been doing before.

"Why, hello Cynder," greeted Sabina. "How is it going?

"Good," said Cynder nervously. "Look, Sabina, I just wanted to say… I want you to know that I'm…"

"_Oh god, I can't do this_," she thought.

"I'm really tired," she improvised quickly, saying the first word that came to her mind.

"Oh, I can most definitely hear that by the tone of your voice, young one," Sabina chortled, shifting a book subconsciously with her paw. "We can't stop working now, though. Terrador would be mighty angry if even a single one of these pages was lost. I must tell you, I'm starting to worry about you."

Sabina rambled on despite Cynder's growing annoyance. "When I was young, I had much more stamina than you."

"Yeah, I s'pose," Cynder shot back weakly before rushing back down. She staggered back to Spyro and Sparx, who were just cleaning out the second floor. Cynder felt as if a weight was crushing her insides. Such a tiny grudge had become a much greater dilemma. Why did she need to apologize to such a lousy dragoness in the first place?

"_Oh well_," Cynder reassured herself. "_At least I won't have to deal with her alone._"


	4. Friends Stay Together

A detonation rent the meadow, alighting trees with fire and shooting projectiles into the air. Hunter slid behind a particularly bulky trunk to avoid the debris flying towards his body. Smoke soon covered the forest, making it difficult to see or breath. The commander coughed, squinting to try and find Meadow and Aspen in the chaos.

Leaves rustled nearby, and instinct caused Hunter's head to turn to the source. The silhouette of an upright creature dashed away from the scene. Hunter could just make out a bushy tail swaying behind the figure before the smoke swallowed it. Slowly and still grasping the trunk, he stepped over a bed of tree roots.

The crackling of fire greeted Hunter's ears as he stumbled through the singed clearing. The smoke from the original blast was now diffusing through the air, but the stench of sulfur remained in the atmosphere, stifling his breaths. He removed the longbow from his back, preparing an arrow in the case that the creature in the smoke returned. The cheetah began to pace, searching for the other two.

A low moaning sound issued from a nearby bush. Hunter sprinted towards the shrubbery, shifting the branches aside with his arm. Underneath, he spotted a furry yellow tail. Bending his knees, he pulled the cheetah's singed body out from the bush. Meadow. Elated that he felt a pulse in the healer's arteries, Hunter dragged the unconscious Meadow to a soft mound of moss and set him to lie on his head. He didn't appear severely injured other than a nasty knock on the head and a charred pelt.

Though knowing that the healer was unlikely to be roused, Hunter shook Meadow's shoulder. Surprisingly, eyelids flitted open and graphite-grey irises stared back at him.

Hunter sighed, relieved. "Meadow, are you okay?" he questioned urgently.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Meadow responded feebly, rasping. "I don't think that my cumin is, though. I guess that we'll just have to settle with ground roast."

Trust Meadow to think of his plants. Hunter placed his paw on Meadow's orange chest before he could rise and attempt to walk. The healer slumped back into the grass.

"You mustn't move yet. You're injured, and the discharge will have caused your sense of balance to be skewed," explained Hunter. "Do you have any idea where Aspen is?"

Meadow shrugged. "No more than you."

Great. Aspen could be seriously wounded, or worse. Hunter rose to full height and scanned the debris, motioning for Meadow to stay. Twisting the arrow in apprehension at what he might find, he searched through the area. Only a moment ago, they were picking at a furry purple flower which had disintegrated in the blast. "_She must be near here_," he convinced himself.

Yet the more Hunter searched, the less confident he felt about encountering the gray cheetah. The sun was setting fast, and shadows crept through the underbrush like predators waiting to pounce. Small brushfires still flickered, and Hunter knew that he would have to keep a watch to make sure that they didn't ignite further. When he still could find no sign of Aspen, Hunter resolved to return to Meadow.

The seared orange cheetah peered back at Hunter. "No luck then, I'm assuming?"

"No," he sighed disappointedly. "I just don't know what happened to her."

Hunter paused shortly before speaking again. "I need something that can hold water," he requested. "Do you happen to have anything on hand?"

The healer searched his pockets before pulling out a leather pouch. "Sorry, this's got holes in it now."

Exhaling, Hunter laid his face in his hands. He had utterly disappointed his fellow villagers on his first day as commander. Add to that, a member of the tribe was missing. Letting his hands fall back to his sides, the cheetah gathered himself. He still had not failed completely yet.

"We must get you back to the village," Hunter told Meadow. "Are you able to stand and walk?"

"I suppose…" Meadow grunted in response. He got to his feet, legs shaking, clearly disorientated. After completely standing up, the healer seemed to get his bearings and steadied himself.

"Ok, hold on to my shoulder," Hunter commanded, moving his arm out for Meadow to grab.

The two cheetahs hobbled sluggishly down the clearing, occasionally tripping on a stray rock or fallen trunk.

Meadow suddenly recoiled as his foot struck a prone object. "Blast, I think I stepped on a dead animal," he cursed.

Hunter gasped in shock. "That's no dead animal," he declared.

"Aspen!" yelled Meadow, trying to break free of Hunter.

Hunter held Meadow back before he could kneel down again. "You must stay standing, Meadow," he demanded. "If you sit now, your muscles will become fatigued."

Hunter permitted Meadow to rest his shoulder on a birch tree before bending down to tend to the gray form on the forest floor. Aspen was oddly still, but Hunter could just see her flank rising and falling.

"Oh my!" Hunter cried aloud. There was barely any skin remaining on her left foot, let alone fur, and her other leg jutted at an odd angle. Blood covered the ground, causing the leaves to turn red. Burnt, blood-spattered gashes ran along her chest and face where rubble had skimmed her body. Nothing of her gorgeous white robes remained.

Heating up, Hunter felt panic rising in his chest before he pushed it down. Now was not the time for fear, but for action.

"Meadow!" he called desperately. "We need to do something, and now. Her seconds in this world are limited if we don't act!"

Searching for anything that could be used to lift Aspen and finding nothing, Hunter unfastened the clasps holding his now scorched robe. Luckily, there were few rips in the fabric and the cape was unusually wide for an archer. He spread the sheet onto the ground.

Meadow, who had disobeyed Hunter's instructions earlier to stay at the birch, limped closer. "Do you need help?"

Hunter thought for a moment. "Do you think that you can walk in a straight line yet?"

"I can try," Meadow replied. He took several steps, placing one hind leg in front of the other. At first, he seemed perfectly stable, but he stumbled slightly by the fourth step.

"That'll have to do," sighed Hunter. "What we need to do is move Aspen onto my cape. It's a makeshift hammock to carry her. Do you know the best method to moving an injured person?"

"That's what I'm trained for," grinned the healer. "What we need to do is get on our knees. You take her right side and I will go to her left.

The cheetahs moved to either side of Aspen. Meadow offered Hunter his left hand. "I need to place my left hand on your right shoulder, and you must put your right hand on my left shoulder."

Lifting Aspen's head slightly so that her furry back was exposed, Meadow looked back at Hunter. "Now, hold our arms against her back, like a frame," said Meadow. "That's it."

Aspen's head lolled to the side as she groaned. Meadow seemed satisfied with the response. "Grab my wrist with your free hand while I hold her thighs. I will then grab your wrist. This will form a frame. Be careful not to move her forelegs, as the bone damage could augment," he added, seeming fairly confident.

"Can we move her onto the robe now?" asked Hunter, straining to stretch his arms.

When the healer nodded, they lifted the body slowly and shuffled across the ground with on their knees. Neither had trouble resting her gently into the velvety cape that Hunter had laid across the forest floor.

Hunter quickly salvaged two large branches from a fallen oak. Meadow raised an eyebrow curiously.

"For stability," the commander clarified, rolling the ends of the cape around either branch. "We can hold the ends without jostling her around as much."

Already, the sun had disappeared over the horizon to be replaced by utter darkness. The cheetahs grabbed either end of the cape and lifted Aspen from the ground. Beginning to find his strength again, Meadow had taken the back side while Hunter lead, stepping backwards.

"Please," advised Hunter, bypassing a thick root to avoid tripping, "keep a lookout for anything suspicious. I know that I saw somebody through that smoke. Who, I don't know."

The night would have been pleasurable had they not been carrying the lacerated Aspen. A cool draft was rushing in from the north, while the crickets held their orchestra. The ancient oaks which loomed over the river appeared as guardians, protecting the village from evils. However, as it was, the two cheetahs could tell that Aspen was fighting a losing battle.

_By the ancestors do I hope that she doesn't become a cripple, let alone if she survives_, Hunter silently prayed. Such a short while ago, he was predicting a filled and blissful future for the once-stunning silver feline, but now, he was just eager that she survive the next few days. She looked like she had been crushed by the force of a mountain. For the first time, Hunter wondered what had caused the explosion. The arrow that the distant figure had fired must have been rigged with explosive.

The village grew larger with every step, and before long, Meadow and Hunter had finally arrived at the cheetah village. Three village guards, one for each entrance and exit, stood alert to watch for outsiders and wild animals. When at last the faltering two cheetahs were seen, one of the guards rallied villagers to aid.

Although many of the Avalar villagers rushed out to see the commotion, one of the first was Prowlus, jagged dagger in hand and green eyes flashing. He approached Hunter, who had by then allowed Lark and another warrior to drag Aspen to the village square, where a bonfire was crackling merrily, orange flickering complimenting the starry night sky.

"What have we here?" inquired Prowlus belligerently. "I thought that Malefor's minions were disbanded. Unless this was just an accident, which I doubt judging by the state of Meadow over there."

Meadow had sat against one of the war holdings in the center of the village, picking out dried herbs from small clay bowls, adding water from the well, and grinding with a mortar and pestle to make a poultice. Prowlus would have had to be blind not to notice the blackened state of Meadow's fur.

Hunter summoned up his energy to describe the events that seemed to have happened so quickly. "You see, Chief Prowlus, Aspen and Meadow were gathering the curing herbs as ordered when−"

"PROWLUS! What happened to my sister!" howled a deep male voice. As the owner of the voice bounded closer, Hunter recognized him to be Lennox, Aspen's younger brother. He wouldn't be happy about this. The only two family members of his line in the tribe were Aspen and his other sister, Lotus. Their parents had perished in an ape attack two years ago.

Prowlus stood his ground, infuriated by Lennox's tone of voice. "Calm down this instant!" reprimanded the chief. "Allow Commander Hunter to fill me in on the details. You must wait for the formal announcement to find out! And don't you dare speak to your chief as such!"

"I'll eavesdrop if you don't tell me," threatened Lennox, his hackles rising in defiance.

"Thank you for informing me of your intentions," Prowlus said coldly with a twitch of his ear.

Facing to the main crowd, Chief Prowlus yelled," Guards! Take this disobedient young delinquent from the village square and tie him to the prisoner's clasp."

Hunter flattened his ears uncomfortably. "Surely he has some right to hear what I'm about to say?"

Prowlus glared back, sheathing his dagger. "If you were chief, you would come to understand that some matters are better left quiet until the appropriate time."

Protesting, Lennox was dragged across the grass towards the very location that Hunter had been only several days earlier, the hook to which traitors and rebels were tied. After struggling several moments with the rope, Lennox finally slumped down and took to observing the procession around the fireplace, worriedly gazing at his sister.

Knowing that to object further would be of no use, Hunter calmed himself.

Prowlus flicked his tail about agitatedly. "Now, please tell me, what happened when you were 'collecting herbs as ordered'?"

Hunter proceeded to tell Prowlus the entire story, from the moment that he noticed the mysterious gray fur on the forest floor to their transportation of Aspen across the Valley of Avalar. He noticed that Chief Prowlus narrowed his eyes in interest when he mentioned the anonymous creature lurking in the smoke. When he finished recounting all of the details, Prowlus merely scratched at his own face in thought.

When Prowlus didn't speak, Hunter took the initiative to break the silence. "Sir, what are you thinking about?"

Prowlus hesitated before lowering his hand. "Hunter, I want you to go and help Meadow with Aspen over by the fire. Leave me be."

Before Hunter could protest, the chief was off, setting a fast pace to the central hut. As Hunter strolled towards the bonfire, he heard Prowlus yell over his shoulder, "And don't let Lennox go!"

Hunter couldn't help but feel slightly irritated with the chief for refusing to share the plans in lieu of the night's events. He passed his catch from earlier that day hanging on a curing rack by the fire, but there were too many unanswered questions distracting him to notice the vicugna.

Aspen's pelt was smudged with poultices which smelled sharp and fresh, like parsley. Her head was propped on a mound of soft straw, and her damaged foot lay near the fire, gathering warmth. Meadow was busy examining the broken right leg, twisting it only slightly as if feeling for movement. The mortar and pestle sat disregarded next to a broken barrel.

Noticing Hunter's presence, Meadow stared up to meet the commander's eyes. The gaze that met his was sorrowful, a look of failure. "I tried, but she's in her own hands now," sputtered Meadow, distraught. "There is nothing else that any of us can do but wait."

"Will I flay the depraved scumbag who did this or what," snarled Lennox, startling Hunter.

Hunter squinted at the irate young cheetah. His fur was blue-gray just as his sisters', both Lotus and Aspen. "Revenge is a never-ending obligation, Lennox," advised Hunter. "There is no turning back once you set upon the path."

Tugging at the clasp, Lennox spat indignantly. "I don't need you to tell me how to run my life."

"No, only you may do that," frowned Hunter disapprovingly. "However, you could make the burden of life easier on yourself if you choose to 'run' it sensibly. If ever in doubt, you should try to think of whom you are doing this for: Aspen, or you."

"I don't need your false counsel," he snapped. "Just go away. Leave me in peace."

Hunter tapped his foot on the side of the barracks. "Very well. Just heed my words. You'll need them on your path, for I see where you are going."

He bent around to leave, not because Lennox had told him to but because Hunter could tell that Meadow wanted to be left in peace, and Aspen's brother's ranting was not helping in the least. Hunter decided to head back to the comfort of his own sleeping quarters. The day had been interminably long, and he was utterly drained of energy.

As Hunter curled up in his bedding, ready to watch the night sky as he did every night before falling asleep, he had the strange feeling that he was being watched. He perused the depths of the forest, then the inner town square. Lennox had plopped onto his furry head, sleeping, and Meadow was still sitting by Aspen solemnly. A golden glint sparkled in the woods and Hunter swiveled his head to the source immediately, heart beating wildly.

_This could be the strange being that I saw earlier_, he thought. He grabbed his bow, looking back into the obscure, murky woods. He saw it again. Bright yellow eyes. They were pointed directly at him. Chest still somersaulting within, Hunter slid off of the barracks where he was about to go to sleep. The eyes were coming from the unguarded opening to the forest, an entrance that the cheetahs rarely guarded in times of peace due to the lack of predator action in the lands behind the camp.

As he hit the floor, he lost sight of the eyes, but he heard the sound of footfalls scraping leaves and breaking twigs in the forest. The noise grew slowly less audible until Hunter could no longer hear it. Fur standing on edge, he crept to the verge of the camp.

Any sentient creature with the slightest amount of sense would never step into a shadowy and unprotected area such as the forest behind the barracks, and Hunter was not about to break that rule, Aspen's state being a particularly fresh reminder. He paced the area at the edge of camp, searching for any clues while keeping a lookout in the forest. Suddenly, he heard a grating noise from under his foot that one might hear when rubbing a surface with fresh sandpaper. He lifted his foot and crouched in for a closer look.

Bristly, gray hair lay on the ground before him, dull as a river rock but just as real. He took the hairs from the ground and reached into his pouch to retrieve the sample that he had collected earlier. He knew, before he even held the fur samples up to the light of the campfire, that they would be one and the same.

The sun peeked above the edge of the horizon, tentatively creeping from the leafy line of trees. Spyro was just about ready to collapse on his feet. Terrador had refused to give the laboring book-carriers a break, saying that they would have the remainder of their lives to rest, but that the library had only a limited time before it sunk through the ground. Their work had paid off, however, as the last books from the final level were at that moment being carried back from the library.

The camp appeared to be a town of tomes and thick volumes. Thousands upon thousands of recounts, biographies, encyclopedias, journals, historical textbooks, and articles littered the once pristine hillside. Terrador overlooked the mass of pages approvingly as he sat, grooming his scales, in front of one of the tents that the moles had designated to the dragons.

Mason, gruff as usual, approached Terrador. "Never knew that old building could hold so many books," he commented.

Terrador nodded his head. "That was the reason that we had to remove them. So much work cannot be lost without a fight."

Eyes drooping, Spyro choose this moment to step out and talk to Terrador. Sparx floated nearby, hovering from stack to stack of books.

The green guardian noticed Spyro as he neared the shelter. "Spyro," he greeted the purple dragon. "I was just about to come and find you. You've done a marvelous job on clearing the library out. I was reluctant to put you back to work so soon after facing Malefor, but you've proven yourself yet again. Do you know where Cynder is?"

Spyro shrugged. "I think that she's carrying some of the final loads. I'm sure she'll be back soon."

"Come back to this tent after you find her. I need to speak to both of you," he said, before adding, "And see if you can find Volteer as well. We will need his judgment."

As Spyro trotted back down the hill, the sound of Terrador and Mason's conversation growing fainter, Sparx fluttered by his ear. "Do you ever get the feeling that our life has been one mission after another ever since that last day in the swamp?"

Stepping over a stray book, Spyro smiled affably. "More than you can believe."

The two surrogate brothers searched the aqueous field for any signs of Cynder. The water accumulation had caused a morning fog to rise above the swampy ground, causing the land surrounding the disappearing remnants of Warfang to resemble an eerie moat.

Sparx tapped his brother's shoulder. "Look, there's General Lieutenant Whatsit over there."

The blue ice dragon was indeed flying in their direction, the violet gems in his helm causing no doubt as to his identity. Murdoch landed softly at the base of the hill, drawing his enormous cyan wings in to his body.

"Why hello there, Spyro," Murdoch shouted cheerfully as he passed. "Well done today!"

Spyro dipped his head. "Thanks, Murdoch."

"Thanks for remembering the faithful dragonfly!" yelled Sparx angrily before moving in front of Spyro. "Why don't they ever give the Flying Idol of the Atlawa any recognition! I mean, think of all of the things that you wouldn't spot without me. Like, for instance, that plank-thingy that's coming our way with Mrs. Master of Evil in the lead."

Spyro looked curiously at the yellow dragonfly. "Where do you see that?"

"Are you blind as well, oh mauve one? She's over there! Maybe you'll eventually spot her when the snow starts falling."

Sparx pointed excitedly at the sky. There was Cynder, partnered up with her favorite earth dragoness. _I still can't believe that she didn't apologize_, thought Spyro. _All that it takes is three simple words. How hard could it be to say three words to someone else?_

When the two dragonesses had touched down on the hill, Spyro scampered over to Cynder with Sparx in close pursuit.

"Cynder!" called Spyro. "You can leave those books for now! Terrador needs to talk to us about something!"

"What?" answered Cynder, looking flustered. "Terrador?"

Sabina stared as Spyro dragged Cynder up to the flapping guardian's tent, but said nothing.

"Had any more fights lately?" asked Spyro, still peeved that she hadn't followed through on his advice.

"No! I had that stupid supporting cable stuck in my mouth, so I cou−"

Cynder broke off as she realized that they had already returned to central mole tent. Terrador was surveying them suspiciously, Volteer at his side. The electricity guardian must have stopped by of his own accord.

"Thank you for finding Cynder, Spyro," began Terrador while he took a comfortable position on the ground. "I've much to tell you all three of you in a short period of time, so you must listen carefully, and by that, I mean _pay attention_."

Sparx jumped. He had been about to grumble about long rants, but he chose otherwise, seeing the expression on Terrador's face.

Terrador tucked the mace on his tail in further. "Take a look around you. Right now. What do you see?"

Spyro scanned the mole camp. Books were strewn across the grass, and moles and dragons navigated through the mass of pages as if they formed a maze. Twelve to fifteen of the rafters built to hold thirty dragons and the same number of moles lined the edges of camp. Workers and warriors alike flowed in and out of the entrances in a bustle.

"It's incredibly overcrowded?" Cynder tried hopefully.

"Exactly," confirmed Terrador. "Any civilization needs room to grow. If not, then not only will populations become stagnant, but also technology and innovation. Nobody should be expected to live like this permanently, squashed on a hillside and surrounded by mudflats. Even the strongest fighters would have trouble settling here."

He narrowed his eyes sternly. "Although we are all reluctant to leave the ancient grounds, the new age has come about, and with it, new prospects and new methods to prosper. You of all dragons know this, Spyro. Like the city, we must eventually replace the fire guardian when we settle back down."

Spyro closed his eyes despondently at the mention of Ignitus. "So, you're saying that we have to start anew?" he asked, voice quavering slightly.

"There is no doubt," answered the earth dragon. "And we cannot look back. This new place must be viewed as a godsend to society, not a hindrance. That leaves the simple question of where to find it. Spyro, Cynder, Sparx. You've done the entire world inconceivable good. It doesn't have to stop here."

Sparx held up his hands. "Hey, are you trying to swindle us into working for you for all eternity?" he lipped. "Because I think that we deserve a break every now and then!"

Ignoring his brother, Spyro spoke up. "Yes, I'll do whatever is required of me. And I'm sure that Cynder will, too."

Cynder nodded in agreement, while Sparx slapped his forehead.

"You guys are so manipulable!" said the dragonfly accusingly.

Terrador didn't comment on Sparx. "I knew that I could trust you," he smiled, showing off the two oddly shaped brown canines that curved around the back of his jaw like barbed wire. "Spyro, I would like for you and Sparx to explore the everglade forests of the north. You will have to brave the open desert above the inactive 'Volcano of Malefor' in order to reach this land. The primary purpose of your mission is to find the optimal location for a new city, and I will explain the qualities that you are looking for later. Volteer will travel with you, and he will be able to help you in choosing a location."

Volteer nodded while Cynder raised an eyebrow. "I didn't hear my name in that. I don't like the sound of that," she remarked with a worried grimace to Spyro.

"Ah, now I was getting to that," replied Terrador. "You two have spent so much time fighting together, and you're a formidable team−"

"So why separate us?" asked Spyro heatedly, seeing where the conversation was going.

"You must learn how to fight the battle every way, even−"

"No! I won't leave Spyro's side!" spat Cynder, jumping to her feet.

"But you must−"

"We know how to protect ourselves on our own," Spyro interrupted again.

"I know! But you need−"

"You will not take us apart!"

"Yeah, you'll have to pry us−"

"SPYRO! CYNDER!" roared Terrador with flaming eyes, causing both Spyro and Cynder to jump. "I will NOT be disrespected in such a manner! You need to listen to what I have to say."

Spyro felt as if the entire camp had stopped to listen. Moles were gazing curiously at the source of the noise. Sparx simply stared, dumbfounded.

"I adduce that my obligation to this extraordinary repartee is t-terminated," stated Volteer uncomfortably before gradually meandering away, as if expecting Terrador to protest and break out at him as well.

Then, Terrador did something that astonished both Spyro and Cynder. He chuckled. "I see that we don't need Malefor's serpent shackles to keep you together anymore."

When nobody said a word, Terrador broke the silence. "So you ask why you must go separate ways? Ironically, my reason is most likely the same as yours. We know about the Spyro's Convexity condition, and we want to do something about it."

Cynder started. She had thought about the Convexity, but there was also a less obvious reason, a prickling instinct that she could not name on the spot.

"I also grasp that he… I mean, his state would be more stable with friends around," Terrador continued while Spyro dipped his head. "However, just as it is necessary to know how he fares with you, seeing his actions without is also essential. A worthy combatant knows the situation from all perspectives."

"Great, so it'll be just like old days!" cheered Sparx. "I'm pumped!"

For once, Cynder didn't have a sassy response to the dragonfly's quick change of heart.

"I trust you both to do everything in your power to advance, for the sake of dragonkind. Your training is not over, after all," Terrador admitted.

Spyro and Cynder exchanged a glance. Surely they had demonstrated their competency time and time again?

"Of course, we must wait until find our new home and establish a new city, but you need to hone your abilities and prevent them from stagnating," the guardian said firmly.

Terrador stood up and began to pace. "As I said before, Spyro and Sparx, you will accompany Volteer to the everglades of the north. I have a separate task in mind for you, Cynder."

Still hesitant on the subject of leaving Spyro, Cynder narrowed her eyes. "And what would that be?" she questioned.

"I want you to travel to a known civilization on the outskirts of the Dragon Realms. You will find this place beyond the catacombs of the Well of Souls. You will need to travel through the uncharted stony mountains of the west. Beyond these mountains, you will find a moderately thin jungle."

"And what could I possibly do there that would concern the citizens of Warfang?" asked Cynder, scratching her head with her talons.

Terrador exhaled. "I want you to convince the inhabitants to join our city. Our population has dwindled to a precarious bottom, and the race of Warfang is in danger of becoming extinct."

Before Cynder could speak, Terrador added, "I don't want you to do this if you don't think that you can manage. There is still time to back out."

Spyro gazed into Terrador's earth-green eyes with a determined look. "I'm a little reluctant to do this, but I will go through with it if Cynder does."

"Woohoo!" yelled Sparx. "Just me and you again!"

While Spyro swatted at Sparx, Cynder stood, her face inquisitive. "Will I be travelling alone, then?"

Terrador grinned. "I was hoping that you'd ask that question," he said. "Actually, we only came to know of this village on the outskirts of the Warfang map from one of our own citizens. I believe that she has family out there, so she'll be coming with you. If you must know, her name is Sabina."

The sun shone through the canopy of hay, causing beams of light to illuminate the wooden planks and the supine figure beneath. Hunter opened his eyes and stretched, yawning. All around him, the bustle of villagers attending to morning business filled the camp. Surprised that he had not woken earlier, Hunter slid off of the barrack and adjusted his bow.

"Hey, Commander!" called a feminine voice.

Hunter swiveled on the spot to see Lark zoning in. Her cape swished in the breeze, causing the elegantly curved shortbow strapped to her back to quiver.

"Meadow would like to see you. He says it's urgent."

"Meadow?" answered Hunter in disbelief. "Why?"

"I'm not entirely sure, sir," replied Lark. "He just told me to find you."

Hunter was rather daunted by the title of "sir," but he gazed back into the female bodyguard's light-colored eyes gratefully. "Thank you for passing the message, Lark. I'll be sure to stop by his hut."

Lark shook her head. "He isn't in his hut, sir," she told him. "He's by the village central."

"What?" Hunter asked almost to himself. "He's been there all night?"

He turned to leave. "Thanks again, Lark!"

_Meadow isn't the type to miss out on a night's sleep_, Hunter thought to himself. He set pace for the extinguished bonfire, rounding the central guard posts to find that Lark had not been lying. The town healer was indeed still awake, standing over Aspen.

"Meadow, you haven't been here since I left last night, have you?" inquired Hunter, peering suspiciously at Aspen's mutilated body.

The healer, gaunt with sleep deprivation, gazed back emptily. "I think I'm losing her."

"No, you can't give up yet!" cried Hunter.

"Her wounds are too great. It's not me that's giving up. It's her body."

Hunter crossed his eyes in disbelief, while Meadow spoke again. "Even if she does recover, she'll be blind."

The commander gasped. He hadn't noticed Aspen's swollen eyes before, staring through the sky as if towards a distant point in space. To think that they would never function for her again was unspeakable.

"You don't need to be worried about that though," said Meadow. "She's dying right now. She could pass any minute now."

"Hmph, I know that she'll approve when I slay the rotten swine that did this," muttered a cheetah behind Hunter, voice full of venom.

"Lennox," said Hunter, knowing full well who the cheetah was before setting eyes on him. "Why don't you think rationally? Shouldn't you be focused on helping the living rather than chasing the unseen?"

Lennox sneered hostilely. "And you think that I can do anything when my paws are tied to this post? You're a poor excuse for a commander."

Hunter opened his mouth to deal a sharp retort.

"And you are a poor excuse for a brother."

As Hunter turned to face the speaker behind him, he received a shock. Aspen? The silvery, willowy form of the striking cheetah stood before him as if there had never been score-marks across her face. Her feet were intact and her eyes…

_Eyes?_ Hunter asked himself. This cheetah's eyes were the color of succulent green vines, not granite stone. He glanced back down towards Meadow, who was still staring down dejectedly at the gory body of Aspen.

Hunter snapped out of his daze, tuning back in to the conversation. Lennox's jaw had dropped. Where Hunter's words had not been effective in the least, this determined female cheetah's had struck gold.

"Do you really think that Aspen would approve of such violence?" questioned the cheetah disgustedly, her green eyes slanted.

Lennox moved his mouth several times voicelessly before gathering hold of himself. "Lotus, don't you understand?" he stuttered.

"And you've just started thinking about us?," she said disdainfully. "You would leave your own sisters to do what? I want to know. Please, share with us."

Lennox gazed at Lotus soundlessly, cornered as a wild animal.

Lotus placed her paw on her hips silently. "I know exactly what you want. You want something to vent your own anger on. Ever since Mum and Dad died, I've known this. Don't deny it. Your oaths of vengeance are not for your sister! Even I can't−"

"No, it can't be!"

Lotus raised an eyebrow at Meadow, who had interrupted her. Lennox simple focused on the ground.

"What do you mean, Meadow?" asked Lotus, her voice softening. "Is it something I said?"

Meadow let his face fall into his hands. "I tried, but I failed. Miserably. I'm sorry," he whimpered.

Hunter stared at the healer with bewilderment. Then, it dawned on him. Bile rose in his throat.

"NO!" screamed Lotus. "NO! NO! NO! NO!"

The blue-gray cheetah fell to her knees and placed her hand on Aspen's chest. Feeling no pulse, she fell backwards as if slapped, inhaling and exhaling at a breakneck speed. For a moment, the world stopped rotating. Lotus began to sob, first barely audible but then uncontrollably, muttering incomprehensible words under her breath.

Hunter bowed his head sympathetically and closed his eyes, silently praying for a happy afterlife for Aspen. Meadow simply sat dejectedly, grimacing. Hunter knew that the healer was blaming himself.

The atmosphere dense with loss, the wailing of Lotus echoed through the valley. Villagers had gathered around the macabre sight, whispering to each other confusedly. Somebody yelled for attention, but the melancholy group in the center of the scene paid the voice no attention. Hunter could not move his eyes from the unmoving mass that once was Aspen. She had a full life ahead of her. This was not meant to be.

The yelling in the audience had reached a crescendo, and Hunter finally looked up to see Prowlus pushing cheetahs out of the way, moving towards them.

"Can't you hear me, you numbskulls?" asked the chief, vexed. "I just saw that traitor run into the woods. Which one of you disobeyed me and set the double-crosser loose? And what in the world is going on here in the first place?"

Hunter glanced back at the prisoner's clasp, which was undeniably empty of Lennox. Anger melded with grief within his heart.

"None of us let him loose," Hunter said, his voice icy cool. "The pathetic coward was waiting for the perfect moment to leave his only remaining sister behind."

"Only remaining sister…" Prowlus repeated. "What does that…"

The chief broke off as he noticed Meadow, still bowed down over the body of Aspen. Hunter took this as his cue to act. He moved closer to Lotus and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Lotus," he began. "I can help you arrange a burial immediately, as is custom, to honor her spirit."

Lotus barely seemed as if she heard him, but Hunter knew that she was listening.

"I want you to find Candace," Hunter continued, referring to the most elderly cheetah in the tribe. "She can perform the burial rites."

For a while, the gray cheetah did not move in the least. Suddenly, she stood up and looked into Hunter's eyes with a new resolve.

"Fine," she said sharply, twisting to run in the direction of Candace's hut.

Wondering briefly as to what had caused her sudden confidence, Hunter addressed Chief Prowlus.

"Sir, what should I do about Lennox?" he asked quietly.

"Don't do anything," commanded Prowlus harshly. "He's not welcome here anymore."

Hunter looked on incredulously. Tying somebody up was one thing, but exile?

Prowlus didn't miss the look on Hunter's face. "You are far too trusting of people, Commander," he snorted. "I have learned over the years that restraint is a virtue."

_Restraint? _thought Hunter. _More like ignorance…_

"This very moment is a prime example, Hunter," said Prowlus knowingly. "I, for one, would never have trusted somebody as grief-stricken as Lotus."

"Lotus?" replied Hunter indignantly. "She is perfectly capable of handling herself."

"Handling herself, yes, but also handling you. Why don't you take a little peek with those near-sighted eyes of yours?"

Hunter scowled at Prowlus and turned around. At first, he could see nothing. The village was empty, as all of the inhabitants had rushed to see Aspen's body. He looked farther out, towards the ancient oak of Avalar.

The slender outline of a cheetah was sprinting in the same direction as the flow of the river-water. The white tunic that she was garbed in, the same color as Aspen's, flowed in the swift wind that blew against her.

"Same way as her dope of a brother," sneered Prowlus. "She won't be coming back here either."

Prowlus caught Hunter tensing his muscles. "And don't you run after them, or you're as good as exiled," he added. "I can't stand traitors, you know."

Hunter paused before making a split decision. "That's it! Exile me. I won't let your condemned obstinacy stand in the way of two more young innocent lives."

With that, he dashed off to the river, leaving Prowlus with his mouth gaping open.

Lennox squeezed himself into the narrow crevice that two young dragons, a dragonfly, and an eager cheetah had passed through only several days ago. The Forbidden Passage was the most direct route to Warfang, and Lennox had resolved long ago, plotting while tied to the prisoner's clasp, to seek the ancient city for answers. He did not know what had attracted him there, but he did know that the dragons had been particularly helpful to the cheetahs, Malefor out of the question.

Deep down in his heart, Lotus's words about his intentions had struck a chord, but he could not turn back now. He had promised to avenge his sister, hadn't he? It was only a matter of how he should do it, how he could find his sister's assassin and kill him. All around him, drops of water dropped from the enclosed slate walls, and an eerie darkness blanketed the air, preventing even his advanced feline night-sight from functioning. The passage was straight, though, and he had no doubts that it would take him to the city.

Lennox continued along cautiously, still thinking. Where could he find a force to be reckoned with? How could he even convince the wielder of that force to aid him? And what would he find of interest in the city of the dragons? The questions bombarded him, confusing him further. He knew of no such power, nobody with the ability to wield such power. Or did he?

A fleeting memory swam through the depths of his mind, almost refusing to be caught. Lennox _had_ met such an entity. He had seen him in person. He almost laughed, the answer was so obvious.

The purple dragon could aid him in his quest of revenge.


	5. Never Without Weapon

"Look, Spyro, there's what's left of the Dome!"

Cynder glanced at Spyro, eager to see if he had heard her. Where the proud civilization of Warfang had once stood, there were only remnants of buildings and the grim reminder of the possessiveness of Mother Nature. The convoy of dragons, four in total, was making use of the brisk northerly wind that rose from the southern sea, the glow of Sparx in the lead. The ruins flanked the dragons on one side followed by a thick mixture of unbroken forest. The night before, Cyril had suggested that they avoid the ring of perpetual fire left by Malefor on the landscape. Unfortunately, that meant that Spyro's group would have to circumvent a huge stretch of land.

"Yeah, s'pretty amazing," Spyro said absentmindedly while directing his wings to make a slight correction to the west. Around him were the bulkier shapes of Sabina and Volteer, but Spyro could barely keep his mind on flight, let alone worry about the others. Terrador was sending him on a wild-goose chase. The areas outside of the swamps and plains of the Dragon Realms had never been recorded to have been traversed in centuries, so naturally, no known mole, cheetah, dragon, or other otherworldly being of the southern sea had any idea of the deserts beyond. At least Cynder had a guide who knew where she was going, albeit the poor relationship that the two dragonesses had started. As for the electricity guardian, Spyro had always liked Volteer, but he and Sparx were sure to tire of his trigger-happy tongue.

"Would it not be wise to break now? Berk's place is actually a bit to the south, now," said Sabina to Spyro's left, interrupting his thoughts.

Cynder voiced the protest that was welling in Spyro's throat. "No, Sabina," she answered sharply. "We still need to… erm…. discuss our return trip."

"Now that's planning ahead. What would cause such foresight?"

"Well," Cynder began slowly, "we need to have a goal in mind if we're to… go somewhere."

Sabina squinted at her target cynically. "Didn't Terrador already explain to you that we have a goal in mind? After all, our goal isn't to return to the ruins of Warfang so soon, is it?"

An air of tension was building again. Spyro could sense that Cynder was becoming irritated, especially after seeing the smug expression of understanding on Sabina's face. He stole a look back at the camp, which seemed a distant dot in the blue of the sea combining with the cyan sky. The harsh cawing of a crow sounded from below, but Spyro took no notice of it.

When Cynder remained silent, Sabina tossed her head touchily. "Why would you want to delay?" she asked again, this time more forcefully.

"I just don't think that it would be right for us to split apart so early," Cynder responded impatiently.

Volteer had begun to watch curiously, his vivid blue wings making a great turbulence in the air.

"So you just don't want to experience the sadness of separating from your friends," the green dragoness answered philosophically. "You have something to learn, young one. The wise make new friends at all opportunities."

While Sabina turned her head towards the far-away mountains, Cynder met Spyro's eyes in exasperation.

"You see, Cynder, you have to think about others and step into their scales," said Sabina. "You have had all of this time with Spyro and Volteer, but I have not seen my uncle for ages."

Spyro raised his eyebrows. Sabina hadn't even bothered to mention Sparx, who had been unusually quiet for the first branch of the trip, even woken from a long, recuperating sleep. That was a strike aimed at both Spyro and Cynder, intentionally or not. For the first time, he could somewhat understand Cynder's dislike of Sabina.

"Would it not be discreet, if at all possible farsighted, to propose that our division be imminent, as prompts Sabina?" asked Volteer suddenly.

"No."

Surprise flickered on the faces of the dragons, especially Volteer.

"I can tell you what the problem is," continued Sabina. "There is something odd going on between these two young ones."

"Something going on!" pouted Cynder, her teeth glinting as her lips quivered. "As if!"

"What are you suggesting, Sabina?" Spyro questioned, trying to mediate.

"I think that you know the answer to that," she simpered, meriting a glare from Cynder. "I think I know just the cure for you two lovebirds. Why don't you have some time alone with each other?"

Cynder stared at her nemesis as if she thought that she'd cracked a joke. "We're not in love!"

Squinting cynically back, Sabina shook her head. "What would you call your relationship with Spyro, then?"

"Sabina," said Cynder urgently, frustrated. "Things happen to you when you live with the threat of death always a few feet away. Spyro and I faced that together, and we made something that you will never understand. It's called friendship."

Shock filled Sabina's eyes, who hadn't been expecting such retaliation. For a few moments, only the cooing of mourning doves announcing the dawn rang through the air.

Volteer looked on awkwardly. "Perhaps the two of you would be more preferably accommodated if you d-did… er… backtrack, so to speak… Just for now, before we ourselves separate."

"So as not to estrange or alienate," he added hastily, seeing the look on Cynder's face.

"Come on, Cynder," Spyro urged. "Let's just pull back a bit."

Reluctantly, she rotated her wings forward to create air resistance as Spyro did the same. Volteer, appearing pensive, closed in to Sabina as the other two dragons, with Sparx, neared the ground. Spyro peered upward, wondering how Sabina was reacting as he broke through the canopy of trees.

Cynder touched down first, causing the broad layer of leaves around her to crunch. Observing the undergrowth tangling around the trunks of the trees, Spyro set down beside Cynder.

"Nicely handled," said Sparx sarcastically, settling against a knothole in a large oak.

"I don't know what I'm going to do now," Cynder sighed, dejected.

Spyro shook his head. "I do," he said. "You need to apologize. Even before, it would have helped, but now, it's completely necessary. How are you going to travel with her for miles, and more importantly, how will you ever accomplish anything with an enemy?"

"But you heard her. All that she's concerned about is herself, stuck-up as she is. She probably cares more about insulting me than anything else."

"Well, I can tell you that I'm just glad I don't have to put up with her," Sparx put in unhelpfully.

Spyro blinked, trying to think of a solution. "You could at least try to say that you want to put everything behind you."

"But then, she'll assume that she was in the right the entire time and tell me that younglings don't know any better anyway!" exclaimed Cynder in desperation.

"Now you sound just like Sabina."

Cynder glared angrily, surprised at the accusation. "How? Are you turning on me now, too?"

"Look," said Spyro. "Sabina's the kind of dragon that always wants to be in the right. You don't fight against dragons with that kind of attitude. You have to let them believe in themselves."

"But that's just misleading," growled Cynder, still skeptical.

Spyro leaned against the oak as Sparx watched on. "It is misleading, but you know what I think?"

"What?"

He looked into her acid-green irises. "_She's_ misled. And a misled person is easily manipulated. She had to discover that for herself... and she will."

Cynder sat, deep in thought for a moment. "Where did you learn all of this?" she asked. "You grew up in a swamp, didn't you?"

"Yes, I grew up around dragonflies," Spyro laughed. "And surprisingly enough, they're just like dragons."

"Hey," protested Sparx. "Now we're making generalizations here!"

The cloying scent of fresh forest peat wafted around them. With a pang, Spyro realized that this may be the last time that he and Cynder could see each other for some time. Terrador was right; they'd developed something stronger than the snake chain that had held them together for so long.

"So, what more did Terrador tell you about this new location for Warfang?" said Cynder, trying to strike up conversation again.

Spyro narrowed his eyes. He felt less confident on this subject. "It's not exactly going to be called Warfang, since that city is gone. He also explained to me that we couldn't stay in the Dragon Realms of the southern sea, since the land's been so ravaged by the war, and dragons aren't ones to destroy forests."

"Haha, good one," chortled Sparx.

"So, what's he looking for?" Cynder questioned.

"Terrador told me that I needed to look for a spot on the coast," said Spyro. "Somewhere with a freshwater inlet, something that he called a… an estuary. I'm not sure that he even knows if the ocean reaches around the other side, but there's an entire desert between us and that place, whatever it holds. When I asked about the other side, if anyone knew anything, Cyril said that sentries, on particularly clear days, could spot forests, places that looked like glades from a distance."

Frowning, Cynder looked at Spyro quizzically. "That means that you could be going on forever. What makes him so sure that you'll find open sea?"

"I don't know," Spyro admitted. "Volteer explained to me that we're 'situated on a suppositious isthmus of splen −' well, something like that."

Sparx emitted something between a laugh and a scornful cough. "One day, I am going to fly up that overly large nostril of his and knock that darned thesaurus out of his mess of a brain!" he swore.

Cynder stifled a giggle. "Just make sure that you aren't zapped in the process."

Eyes lighting up, Spyro remembered something else. "Terrador also requested that I find a place near a source of wood and stone, for the moles."

"You know what, I've always wondered what the moles get out of their alliance with dragons," chafed Sparx.

"If you used that tiny numbskull head of yours, you might notice that the dragons offer the moles a _pre_-tty good protection," Cynder scowled.

"Well I don't analyze all of this demographic jargon anyway, thank you very much, oh dark one."

"You'd do well to. If I hadn't −"

She broke off as she heard a twig snap. The forest had become eerily quiet.

"Probably some stray animal," said Spyro, looking around. "We should head back, don't you−"

His voice was muffled as Cynder whipped her tail over his mouth. She motioned for him to be quiet and stand still, while Sparx looked around curiously. Time seemed to have frozen; nothing moved around them. Spyro searched Cynder's expression for answers.

They stood as such for what seemed like years but could only have been minutes. Finally, Cynder whispered, "Let's go back to the others."

By consensus, Spyro and Cynder stretched their wings and prepared to take off again. Even so, nothing seemed amiss to Spyro. Both dragons, with the dragonfly following close behind, took to the air, silent as the night. Once they had broken the top canopy of trees, Cynder urged Spyro on, indicating for him to go faster.

Before long, the three had reached Volteer and Sabina, who had been circling close to the old oak. Sabina wore an unreadable expression. Spyro couldn't tell whether she was angry at Cynder or simply taken aback.

"What in the world were you getting at back there?" asked Sparx irascibly.

A look of uncertainty crossed Cynder's face. "Didn't you see it?"

"What?" Sabina asked.

Cynder turned to Spyro and Sparx. "That strange shadow in the forest," she started. "It looked like a cheetah."

"A cheetah?" Spyro repeated. "But what would a cheetah be doing so far from the Valley of Avalar?"

"I didn't say it was a cheetah," said Cynder, irritated. "I said it looked like a cheetah. But I could see what looked like a bow being drawn. It really creeped me out."

"Oh, wait," she added before anybody could interrupt. "I know why I didn't think it was a cheetah. It had strange ears. They were− I'm searching for a word− straight-up?"

"Ah, that would be upright, perpendicular…plumpindicular," corrected Volteer knowingly. "Or maybe erect could suffice."

Before Sparx could let the cat out of the bag, Cynder said, "That's the word I'm looking for. Erect."

"As opposed to prostrate or prone, but not supine," added Volteer.

"Then what could it be?" Spyro questioned.

Sabina craned her earth-green neck. "Are you sure that you weren't imagining it?"

Spyro leapt to Cynder's defense before she could say something to further antagonize the earth dragoness. "I know that she didn't imagine it," he affirmed. "I felt like I was being watched, too. Right Sparx?"

"Whatever," said the dragonfly apathetically. "Probably wanted to butcher us into beefsteak like everything else in this godforsaken world."

"Anyway," Sabina interjected, obviously not convinced. "We need to break apart now, and I'm sure that Volteer would agree."

_Now would be an excellent time to settle the score_, thought Spyro. He got Cynder's attention by tapping her with the corner of his wing and flicked his head in Sabina's direction. Cynder gave a stressed grunt that obviously said, _Later_.

Frustrated, Spyro tried several times again, but Cynder was obstinate. His attempts hadn't gone unnoticed.

"If you guys want to say goodbye to each other, you don't have to be clandestine about it," Sabina interpreted.

"Bye, Spyro," yelled Cynder forcibly. "I'll miss you!"

_And now she's trying to give an excuse not to apologize_. Spyro sighed. It was too late now, but Cynder had missed out on her free get-out.

"Bye Cynder," said Spyro dejectedly. He suddenly had the impulse to say something else, but he didn't know what it was.

"Be fastidious and conscientious and scrupulous invariably everlastingly," Volteer shot out as if preparing them for danger with his words.

Spyro thought he had it just on the edge of his mind. Then it broke through the ice. _I love you_. Just like he'd heard in the center of the earth, whether that was Cynder or a strange spirit from the depths. He could say this for once. After all, he might not see her for a long time.

Still, the words couldn't come out of his mouth.

"Bye Volteer, bye Spyro, bye Sparx!" spouted Sabina, surprising Spyro by including his surrogate brother. "I'll make sure to take care of Cynder for you."

Spyro glanced at Cynder, who looked indignant again.

"The time has arrived," acknowledged Volteer. "Safe journey to the both of you."

Sabina and Cynder swerved to the left, while Volteer, Spyro, and Sparx kept right. Spyro tried to catch one last look at Cynder's elegant face, but she was looking in the other direction, resolved and perhaps fearing that Spyro would be angry from disappointment.

Spyro watched Cynder until she was a speck in the distance. Not for the first time but stronger than ever before, he felt as if a part of him had been torn off and locked in a cellar. With a twinge of sadness, he glided closer to Sparx and Volteer.

Lennox stalked through the underbrush, using his dagger to clear stray briars and devil's cane. He should have seen the outline of Warfang by now. He remembered seeing the magnificent metropolis through the trees before rushing out onto the battlefield of orcs and grublins. Suddenly, his foot sank into the ground. He pulled it out, but not before his other foot had fallen through as well.

"Damn it!" he cursed aloud. "What is this?"

He trudged to the edge of the woods, carefully pulling each leg out of the mud after the other, every step a loud squelch. The teak-colored cape hanging at his shoulder caught under the surface and dragged, tearing at the seams as it passed over countless briar patches. He pulled back a large sweet-gum sapling before stepping into the open plain.

"What the heck!" he gasped, seeing the ruins of Warfang, remnants of once-tall skyscrapers jotting the grassy field.

_What happened here?_ he asked to himself. _This is awful._

Lennox brushed himself off, trying to think clearly. The dragons couldn't all be gone, even if their city was. But what had they fought for all this time? The war couldn't have been all for nothing.

A gleam of violet caught his peripheral vision. He turned to look at where it had come from.

_So they're not all gone!_ he thought triumphantly, spotting a large blue dragon with a silver, jewel-inlaid helm striding across a tent-covered hill. He could get some answers from this dragon.

As Lennox painstakingly pushed through the thick layer of sediment, he noticed that the blue dragon wasn't alone. Around him were three massive dragons of multiple colors. Guardians, were they? He remembered Prowlus talking to them several times over the war. The guardians seemed to be talking to smaller figures… no, a full-grown earth-green dragon, maybe a dragoness. He wasn't interested in the green dragoness, though.

The purple dragon stood by the large blue guardian, intent on the conversation. Lennox smiled to himself. This would be easier than he had originally planned. All he had to do was pass through this wretched sewage line and reach the encampment.

Feeling suddenly optimistic, Lennox didn't notice the increasingly excited motions of the distant dragons. It was only after the group had taken off that the cheetah noticed the movement of wings. He looked up to see the purple dragon growing smaller in the sky, flanked by the dark dragoness that was always by his side.

Making an oath under his breath, he took off in chase as fast as his legs would carry him through the muddy plains.

"Lotus! Wait!"

Hunter dashed through the woods, dodging around gnarly tree-trunks in an effort to make a beeline for the sprinting blue-gray cheetah. He'd just emerged from the Forbidden Passage, and he'd known that Lotus would be near.

Luckily for the commander, Lotus's bright white tunic illuminated in the sun, making her an easy target for pursuit. He hopped over a fallen log, sprinting to catch the escaping cheetah. When he was in range, he lunged and scrambled to grab Lotus, finally managing at snagging her leg.

Lotus tripped and fell, and Hunter tried to cushion her fall as best that he could, landing in a patch of velvety moss.

"What are you doing!" she shrieked in protest. "You're letting him get away!"

Hunter put his finger over his lip. "Let him go. Lennox will get himself into more danger by rushing into situations like that. You don't need to follow him into the belly of the beast."

Lotus kicked at Hunter. "I don't want to lose another family member!"

"You won't!"

"I will if you don't let me go this instant."

"I assure you that we will eventually catch up to him," Hunter affirmed.

"But−" Lotus broke off in midsentence. "Wait. Did you say we?"

"You heard me correctly," said Hunter. He didn't have anything to gain from hiding the truth from her, and even if he did, Hunter was not one to tell lies. "Besides, I can't really bring you back, since Prowlus exiled you."

"He did what?" asked Lotus, her rustic green eyes widening in horror.

"He cast you and Lennox from the tribe," Hunter said solemnly.

"He can't have!" she protested. "You wouldn't be here if he did. You'd be disobeying orders!"

Hunter looked away sadly. "Yes, you're completely right. But I'm about as welcome back home as you and Lennox."

"But he can't have−"

"He did."

Lotus gazed into Hunter's eyes, trying to see if he was lying. For a few moments, neither cheetah said a word. Soon, awe replaced the disbelief on her face, and Hunter thought that he may have even seen the beginnings of a new-founded respect.

"You did that… for us?"

"No, I did it for the good of the tribe," Hunter said confidently. "Prowlus will have to see the error of his ways again."

"I'm not so sure about that," Lotus answered, scratching her head. "You may have pulled the last straw. Why do you want to help us, anyway? Surely we aren't important compared to the rest of the tribe."

"You have to understand," Hunter began, "A tribe is a single unit, but it is a single unit constructed of chains. If one chain breaks, the unit cannot function. The both of you are the remnants of a proud family, and the tribe cannot afford to lose you, especially when our numbers have dropped so low."

"So you'll help me find Lennox?"

"I'll do what I can," Hunter promised. "And by the looks of things, I say that we had better get a move-on before the trail becomes stale."

Lennox could just make out the silhouettes of dragons above the forest canopy. At least, he was most concerned with keeping pace with the purple one. Thousands of bushes and hopeful saplings fell to his whirring dagger as he pushed himself to keep up with the flying creatures. However fast he was travelling, he knew that he couldn't possibly hope to match a dragon in speed, especially with the constant hindrance that was the forest underbrush.

Fatigue was spreading through his muscles like a pestilence, but he urged himself onward anyway. Several times, his unprotected feet collided with a sharp object or protruding root, but he ignored the pain. The dragons overhead appeared as if they were chatting leisurely.

_What I wouldn't give to be able to fly right now_, Lennox thought bitterly. He'd tried to call out to the dragons, but they didn't seem to be able to hear. If there was one thing that a cheetah could do better than the scaly dragons, it was hearing. That advantage was no consolation to Lennox at the moment, though.

The caw of a crow sitting on a dead branch reverberated in the clearing. Lennox kicked at it irritably as he passed, and the sleek bird took off in a flurry, gibbering indignantly. He looked up again to see if the dragons had noticed the commotion, but to no avail.

Lennox could feel that he was lagging behind, but his muscles were seizing up. Every step became painful, and slowly, his effort began to ebb. His peripheral vision dimmed as disorientation set in. Just as Lennox felt that he could go no longer, he saw two dark shapes diving through to the forest floor.

Out of instinct, the Lennox slowed and stopped behind a tree, quietly drawing in his breath. He peered around the trunk.

"I don't know what I'm going to do now."

The black dragon! There was no need to hide now. He knew that the purple dragon would be just around the corner. Before he could step out, he noticed a glint of reflection near an old oak tree. Curiously, he tried to get a closer glimpse, wavering slightly out of exhaustion.

A small patch of sunlight illuminated a shoulder clasp, just like the one that he wore. Lennox held in a gasp. There was something watching the two dragons that distinctly wasn't cheetah. He could see the outline of a bushy tail, but the remainder of the figure was obscured by the underbrush.

Indecision clouded his thinking. He could reveal himself, but he would then be at the mercy of whatever hid behind the bushes. He slumped quietly behind his hiding place, wishing that he could sink into a hole. He tuned back in to the conversation.

"Terrador also requested that I find a place near a source of wood and stones."

Find a place? Lennox wondered if the state of Warfang had anything to do with the purple dragon's sudden flight. He shifted slightly, and a twig snapped under his weight. Both dragons stopped talking and looked in his direction. Lennox closed his eyes, hoping that the tunic-clad creature wouldn't realize his presence.

Neither dragon spoke again. They must have noticed either him or the being hiding in the bushes. Suddenly, the sound of wings flapping reverberated around trees, announcing the departure of the two dragons. Soon after, unmistakable paw-steps ruffled the leaves. Lennox clasped his hands together and prayed silently that the beast would stay away from him.

The thing, whatever it was, stalked ever closer. He tried to scrunch, to make his form smaller, but there was no need. He knew that it had sensed him. The sound of metal scraping against leather rang through the clearing. There was no mistaking the sound. A dagger had been removed from a sheath.

Sweat was pouring from his glands, partly from his attempts to keep pace with the dragons, partly in fear. Paws shaking, Lennox removed his own knife, the only weapon that he had carried.

_It's all or nothing_, Lennox decided, despairing. He could wait here and be executed, or he could go down in a one-on-one. Rising slowly to his feet, he braced himself to fight.

Murdoch evaluated the finished mole camp, satisfied with the product. The work would be sufficient for the time being. He glanced back at the open field, looking up in surprise as two cheetahs dripping in mud waved him down.

The ice dragon acknowledged them, surprised. "Why, hello there!" he greeted merrily. "Hunter…Commander Hunter is it? I am Murdoch, Lieutenant General of the Army of Warfang." Lips twitching slightly, Murdoch gestured to the city. "At least, the Army of the Sad Remains of Warfang," he corrected himself.

Before either cheetah could respond, Murdoch shook his head. "We can't really give you a proper greeting right now, but that's out of the question." He caught Lotus's eye. "What might be your name?"

"I'm L-Lotus," she stammered, slightly in awe of the gigantic dragon, never having been this close to a full-size adult.

"Lalatus? That's a pretty name," Murdoch said politely.

Hunter nodded at Murdoch respectfully. "We need to see Terrador."

Murdoch narrowed his eyes curiously. "Terrador? Why?"

"We're in search of a missing member of our tribe. A relative of Lotus, you could say."

"Well, you may not have to see Terrador after all," the general replied, his long teeth flashing in the sun. "There was a cat that passed by here not too long ago. He looked like one of your tribe members."

Raising his eyebrows, Hunter adjusted his tunic. "Do you remember any specific details?"

"He had a tannish cloak, I remember that," said Murdoch pensively. "Then again, that may have just been clay."

"Anything else?" pressed Hunter. "Something that he was carrying, or maybe his fur color?"

The lucid-blue dragon nodded. "Come to think of it, he looked somewhat similar to Lalatus, which would make sense if you say that you're related."

"That would be him, then. Which way did he go?"

Murdoch laughed. "That won't be hard. Just follow the tracks in the mud that he left."

_I should have thought of that_, Hunter reprimanded himself. "We'll just be going then. We can't afford to lose any time."

"I can still take you to Terrador if you want," offered Murdoch. "I'm sure that he might be able to help you find this… renegade."

"Thanks, but−"

Hunter stopped midsentence as an idea formed in his head. "On second thought, you wouldn't know where Spyro, Cynder, and Sparx are, would you?"

"I can tell you that," Murdoch grinned amiably. "They're on a journey to the other side of the world… I mean, Dragon Realms. You won't be finding them around here for a while."

Disappointed, Hunter scratched his chin. Would Terrador ever let those three have a break?

"That does it for that plan, then," said Hunter.

Lotus mustered the courage to speak again. "Why is Warfang gone, sir?"

"Ah, now that might be a question better answered by Terrador. Do you want to see him?"

Hunter thought for a moment. "I think it may be wise at this point. Could you take us to him?"

"What about Lennox!" exclaimed Lotus. "He could be miles away by now!"

"That's what I mean. Simply racing in after him might not be the best strategy at this point," he said. He turned back to Murdoch. "Can you take us to Terrador, then?"

"Of course! What are we waiting for?"

Murdoch's tail flicked past Lotus's face as he set off in the opposite direction, beckoning for the two to follow. Hunter shrugged and began walking, followed reluctantly by Lotus. Around them, the camp was alive with movement, dragons and moles alike organizing documents and books, entering and exiting the colorful tents erected on wooden stilts. Several times, Lotus caught herself staring at certain dragons, particularly the forest-green ones, only to look down when they noticed her.

The largest tent by far, rectangular in layout, loomed before them. The tarps hanging from the supports flapped in the wind, causing the entire structure to look like an undulating creature. Murdoch's bright blue eyes flashed, and he gestured for the cheetahs to enter.

Lotus gasped as she and Hunter stepped inside. Long tables lined the tent, the spaces underneath them lined with books. Geographical maps and battle guidelines covered the surfaces, without pattern but organized at the same time. In the center, ten to twenty mole-sized bunks were strung from the ceiling.

The part of the room that stood out to her most, however, was the enormous green dragon situated in the far left corner of the room. Scrolls of parchment and ink bottles lay strewn out before him, and his eyes were closed, deep in thought. Scars covered his bright hide, most noticeable across his chest, and wavy-red hair emerged from the side of his face like sideburns. His horns curved like a ram's, and she noted the sharp-looking mace on his tail-blade.

Murdoch stopped before him. "Master Terrador. You have visitors."

The guardian opened his eyes slowly. "Hunter," he acknowledged, his baritone voice reverberating through the room. "Pleasure to see you."

"The same to you," said Hunter.

"I'll just be waiting outside," Murdoch stated before strolling out through the flap.

"I'm assuming that you are here on behalf of the cheetah that ran past here earlier," Terrador guessed.

Hunter exhaled exasperatedly. "Did everyone see him?"

"He wasn't hard to miss," said Terrador. "He was having quite a bit of trouble running through the plains, as you may have found."

"The fool! What did he think he was doing?"

Terrador peered down at them with his bright emerald eyes. "I was under the impression that he was chasing a group of dragons that took off just this morning."

Hunter's eyes narrowed. "That group of dragons wouldn't happen to include Spyro and Cynder, would it?"

"As a matter of fact, it did."

He brought his paw to his forehead. "What has he got himself into, now?"

For the next ten minutes, Hunter and Terrador exchanged information, Terrador beginning with the sinking of Warfang and Hunter bringing up to date the events of the tribe. Lotus leaned against the pole and observed quietly, ears poking up in interest every time Terrador mentioned the lands beyond the desert or the civilization past the catacombs. She had always been interested in the lands beyond Avalar and Warfang, as she herself had never traveled beyond the ten-mile radius that was her home.

"And so he seeks revenge… when he doesn't even know if Aspen was killed maliciously," Terrador noted after Hunter finished.

"That's youth and inexperience for you," said Hunter. "I still don't know what he wants to do with Spyro… unless he wants to use him."

Terrador shook his head. "As fast as you cheetahs are, he's poorly equipped to keep up with dragons. There are far too many barriers on the journey to travel by land."

"Oh, Commander, sir," Lotus cut in suddenly at Hunter. "We're not very well equipped either. I forgot everything at home, and I don't think that you brought your bow."

Hunter's ears flattened. "That's a good point. All that I have is my sword."

"What are we going to do? We can't defend ourselves like this!"

Terrador gave Lotus a knowing glance. "I may not be able to help you directly to find your brother, but I do have something that could be of aid. Follow me, please."

The green guardian rose to his feet slowly and strode out the entrance, the mace on his tail flicking dangerously from side to side. Lotus shrugged at Hunter before moving after Terrador.

The sun blinded Lotus for a moment, but her eyes adjusted. Aware that she was the center of attention again, she self-consciously scraped at her legs, which had caked over in dried mud. Terrador was by then entering a smaller, circular tent near the edge of the hill. Hunter and Lotus shadowed him in.

Inside was a mass of metal-workings. Lotus could pick out swords, battle-maces, axes, armor, anvils, hammers, and various tools that she had no name for. A flurry of moles organized the piles of metal, causing a ruckus of clashing and clanking.

Terrador motioned to one of the moles. "Shad, come over here!"

The mole lifted his cloth hat to the cheetahs in greeting. "What can I do for you, Master Terrador?"

"You don't happen to have that special item, do you?"

"Of course, sir. They dropped it somewhere around here."

"While you're at it, grab some of those elemental craft."

As Shad raced off to a pile of swords, Terrador looked back at Hunter and Lotus. "This is a collection of all of the items that we were able to salvage from the city. While the dragons were busy clearing the books out, the moles grabbed a couple of other items from falling buildings. Some of them are quite strange, in fact."

Shad and another mole came stumbling to Terrador, laden with colorful weaponry. They dropped it and with a thank you from Terrador, scampered off to resume work.

"You both should be able to defend yourselves from a distance. You may choose any of these bows that you wish," said Terrador. "I must add that some of them have additional powers, as they are imbued with the essence of purple gems."

Hunter nodded, noticing that Lotus appeared confused. "Gems are a source of renewal for dragons," he explained. "They cause processes that would normally be quite slow to be faster. I believe that some may call them catalysts."

"Few can describe gems like that," Terrador growled, impressed. "So, take your pick. And don't be humble. Nobody but you can use these bows. They were made long ago for cheetahs such as yourselves."

Four bows were laid out on the ground. One was elegant and ebony-colored, and the string appeared thick, produced from bright material. The other two were simple, but nonetheless gracefully crafted, shorter than the ebony bow. The fourth caught Lotus's eye. The bow was the shortest of the four, but the wood on either end of the bow spiraled inwards. The taught bowstring gleamed with a dull light, and the limbs looked to be made of poplar.

"Sir− I mean, Master Terrador?" asked Lotus. "Is this bow made out of… I mean is it−"

"Yes, Lotus," answered Terrador, understanding. "It's made of aspen."

"Can I?"

"Of course!"

She bent over to pick it up. The aspen bow felt light in her hand, and she noticed how it fit her paws, as if it were made for them. She plucked the string, and a resonant _twang_ sounded.

"I see that you've made a perfect match," Terrador smiled. "You can grab one of the quivers over there and stock it with arrows."

While Lotus checked out the stack of arrows, Hunter still looked uncertain. "Are you sure about this Terrador?"

"Hunter, I've never been surer," said the guardian. "You'll be helping us by lightening the load, since we will have to move all of this eventually."

"But−"

"Go on now!" laughed Terrador. "I'm not letting you leave until you take one."

Sighing, he snatched up one of the basic bows and walked over to join Lotus. When they had returned, Terrador was clearly not finished.

"I have one more gift for you, Lotus," grunted Terrador. "I have seen the aura of nature about you. You should hone this inner nature. To always remind you of your calling, I have something special for you."

He slid something out with his paw. Lotus gasped. Before her, a gleaming falchion shone with a green light even though the rays of the sun could not penetrate through the dark tent. A bright emerald, lively as a springtime bud, was encrusted in the silver hilt. The actual blade was composed of a vine-like, stratified green metal, and on the flat were the platinum letters G-A-E-A.

"This is Gaea," Terrador said. "Gaea has a long and mysterious past, one that I personally do not know. Long ago, a strong cheetah warrior carried this sword, but it has sat unused in the now ruined armory of Warfang since then. While the bows that you carry are rumored to have inner powers, this blade is known to possess extraordinary abilities."

"But I couldn't be the one to wield it!" exclaimed Lotus. "I'm only a… a… regular cheetah!"

"Actually, I don't know whether you are either," Terrador admitted.

Lotus looked taken aback. "Then why have you shown it to me?"

"I want to see if you are the one. Pick it up," he ordered.

She looked down at Gaea timidly. It was too sudden. She couldn't be good enough for this. As she indecisively studied the falchion, it flashed, almost as if daring her to touch it. Lotus slowly reached down, paw outstretched. She gripped the hilt, which felt oddly warm to the touch, and stood up.

Almost immediately, green flames shot around Lotus's form. They enveloped her, creating a whirlwind of debris. Hunter jumped back, startled, while Terrador stood his ground and watched on. Metal armor was flung across the tent, and some of the moles had to duck to avoid being hit. The tornado of green fire rose off of the ground and hung suspended in the air, casting an eerie light around the room.

After a few moments, the whirlwind returned to the ground. The flames dissipated as fast as they had come, and as Lotus's legs touched the ground again, she staggered. Metal clattered as it landed around the room, and the tent fabric settled. Hunter still seemed awe-struck. The falchion glittered as innocently as it had before.

Terrador looked on approvingly. "Gaea has no power source," he said. "The emerald that you see in the hilt had no known function. This means only one thing, Lotus."

He paused. "Gaea has accepted you."


	6. Jokes Abound

The beast was almost touching him. Lennox clutched his dagger closely, preparing himself. Not a single bird-call broke the tense silence, only Lennox's heavy breaths. A pulse of adrenaline caused his body to shiver. He ducked and rolled, and not a moment too soon.

A knife scoured the trunk where his head had been. He heard the papery tree-bark crackle as it was sheared cleanly off, thinking about how close that had been to his neck. His adversary didn't give him a second to recover.

The blade rushed through the air towards him, whirring like a diving falcon with a beak just as sharp. Lennox parried the blow out of instinct. Three more strikes flew his way, and he barely blocked each one. The speed of the attacks gave him no time to think.

Lennox held his own, but he was being steadily driven back by the constant barrage. One to his side. One towards his unprotected legs. Another at his head. Another to his side. The dark figure slashed again, this time slicing through Lennox's tunic fabric.

_I can't keep this up! _Lennox let out a shout as the knife nicked his shoulder. The area stung horribly, but he couldn't stop to look at it. In desperation, he kicked out at his attacker, missing and only succeeding in allowing room for another slice across the chest.

Lennox kicked out again, forgetting the dagger in his hands. Out of some vestige of luck, as the attacker dodged, its foot caught on a root, unsteadying it for a moment, but only enough for Lennox to get a good view of the thing.

For a moment, he almost mistook it for a cheetah. The assassin wore a weathered cloak, the hood of which completely obscured the creature's face. An ear protruded from a rip in the side, a pointed stone-furred ear that stood upright and alert. A slender longbow and a quiver rested on its back. The entire body of the attacker was covered in cloth, and he noticed leather gloves and boots. This killer obviously didn't want to be identified.

His hooded enemy recovered faster than Lennox expected, taking him off guard. The creature held the blade in a reverse grip, a maneuver that Lennox knew was risky, but lethal in the right hands. He narrowly avoided another slash to the right.

"What are you!" yelled Lennox in desperation. If the creature had taken any notice of his words, it didn't show it.

_This must be the end_, he thought as the silver glint of the knife passed inches from his face. This abomination had the strength of a dragon. At least he'd go down fighting.

The attacker's arm moved back, and Lennox recognized the makings of a killing blow. He closed his eyes, hoping for a speedy death. He could almost feel the clutches of death, its clammy fingers groping for him. Seconds felt like minutes.

_Just get it over with, _he pleaded silently. He shivered in discomfort, but the blow never came. Wincing, he peaked through one eyelid. Only the knife-slashed oak stood in front of him. The steady beating of wings passed over his head again.

_Dragons..._ He could just see the sun reflecting off of the dark breastplates of the black dragon. Trembling, he looked to the left, in the direction that the dragons were traveling. A long bushy tail darted from tree to tree, and the hood of his would-be assassin bobbed in the wind.

Sickened, Lennox sank to his knees and buried his face in his cloak. A trickle of blood gradually slid down his arm from his shoulder wound, but he ignored it. Shivers racked his body. He slumped against the tree and stopped moving.

The endless forest canopy rushed by under Spyro's long, extending wings. From time to time, the sun peeked out from the cloud cover, bathing both him and Volteer in golden light. The bright sands of the north were barely visible over the reach of the far forest.

To his right spanned the no man's land of the war, the fields devoid of all life. A gnarled stump may have livened the enormous circle of dull stone that marked Malefor's path of destruction. Even though Spyro's defeat of the Dark Master had quelled the strong winds that had circulated over the landscape, the ring of destruction would carry an air of desolation for years to come.

Frowning, Spyro stared at the line marking the end of the forest and the beginning of Malefor's warpath. The points at which the trees met the rock seemed so coarse, and so undefined. Spyro closed his eyes. _At what point does good become evil?_

In the least, there wasn't another Malefor plotting, seeking revenge for self-committed wrongs. After all, only two purple dragons had ever existed in the Age of Dragons. Ignitus himself had told him that. One purple dragon trapped forever, another…

"Hey, Spyro, snap out of it!"

Sparx zipped past Spyro's nose, the typical mocking twinkle in his eyes ever-present. Spyro raised one of his eyebrows.

"You don't have a giant turtle thingy to save you this time when you faint," Sparx continued. "And then, little ol' me'll have to find this faraway place that we don't even know exists and then take all the credit for everything! Ya wouldn't want that, would'ja?"

"Now, now," Volteer began. "The ubiquity of such ideally optimal locations is undeniable."

Sparx rolled his eyes. "Here we go again."

A blast of wind shook Spyro slightly. "What is a desert like?" he asked, his voice faltering slightly. "It looks like we're getting nearer."

"A desert?" The electricity guardian cleared his throat. "A desert is a class of biome with an annual precipitation rate of under approximately sixteen inches of dihydrogen monoxide. The sun radiates the sand of the desert to arduously elevated and towering temperatures during daylight hours, and once the moon has traversed half the diameter, which is the radius, of the sky, the heat is all but sapped from the miniscule little grains."

"Sounds like a recipe for absolute fun and games."

"Does anything live in the desert?" Spyro asked.

"Yes, a-actually, a desert has an astonishingly diverse ecosystem, which−"

"Look, can you just tell us without the huge background stories?" Sparx pouted.

Volteer either didn't hear him or chose to ignore him. "−consists of, as I indicated, a surprisingly high number of organisms. There are, of course, the arachnids, the venomous vipers, unique species of wild ibex, various scorpions, which are of c-c-course arachnids I must add, gila monsters−"

"Look, maybe you could tell us about all of this _after_ we get outta there!"

Volteer fell silent, as Spyro studied the landscape pensively. This desert would be an obstacle. He had lived in a swamp for the vast majority of his life, and he had never before seen the ocean, plains, glaciers, or the belt of volcanoes until very recently. The dragonflies that he had lived with had, of course, brought tales about the outside world to his ears, but he never knew about such a hostile-sounding environment.

"I'm bored," Sparx said, breaking into Spyro's thoughts again.

Spyro honed in on Sparx, nudging him playfully. "You can't be tiring of this already? We've only just started!"

"Yeah, but it seems like it's taking so much longer to get to whatever dump of a place that we're going."

"The God of Tall Plains can't be this impatient!"

Sparx's eyes lit up. "Hey Spyro," he said mischievously. "How about some jokes?"

"Ah, delightful riddles," Volteer chirped cheerfully. "Let's hear them, then."

"Ok." He glanced at Spyro, who looked back cynically. "Why did the Dreadwing fall down?"

"Because I hit him?" Spyro guessed.

"Because the force of gravity and friction exceeded the lift and propulsion," attempted Volteer with an expression of deep concentration.

"No, no, no, all wrong. He was 'struck' with grief."

Spyro slapped his forehead. "Is that really the best that you can come up with?"

"Why doesn't He Who Is Magenta come up with a better one then?"

"Fine, I will," Spyro shot back. "Did you hear about the tribal chief who tried to slight a dragonfly in a game of cards?"

Sparx rubbed his eyes. "No, I didn't."

"Well, he was buzzted as a cheetah."

"Hey! Now who's got lame jokes?" Sparx replied indignantly. "Here, let's try this one. What's scaly, purple, obese−"

"Volteer, do you have anything up your scales?" asked Spyro hastily.

"Hmmm," the guardian murmured. "Allow me to excogitate c-cognitively."

"That should be a joke in itself," snickered Sparx as Volteer opened his mouth, preparing to recite.

"_Firstly I am told by the tactless, bent, and reprobate_

_As means of guile, as method to compensate._

_After do I begin innocuous, absent from sight,_

_But as often as not, I follow in blight._

_Most consider my center to be the middle of end, _

_But in eternity does it also tend._

_Indicative of what the perpetrator doeth,_

_Must the last part end with three letters, not unethe._

_Now look me in the eye and tell me what be I, _

_La pièce de résistance_ _from the tables of the sky."_

Volteer took a deep breath, obviously spent from ejecting so many words in a single breath. A good-natured smile formed on his lips, and his yellow eyes glinted challengingly.

"That's not a joke at all!" Sparx protested. "That's a riddle."

"Is that not what we were doing?" blustered Volteer.

As Sparx groaned, Spyro was thinking deeply, letting the winds control his wings and his mind. From the tables of the sky…

"I'll give you a hint of insinuation," the electricity guardian spouted. "The solution lies in the sections."

"Did you really come up with all of that nonsense by yourself just now?" Sparx said ungraciously.

"Why, of course!" exclaimed Volteer, taken aback. "If you cannot disentangle or elucidate, I will allow you to ruminate."

"What does that mean!"

Spyro winked at Sparx. "I think he means that he'll give us time to think on it."

"I don't feel like analyzing blasted literature right now," he complained.

"You said you were bored…"

The tent flapped as Terrador stepped out into the open air. He breathed deeply, seeming to feel the vibrations of the world as they pulsed around him. Lotus and Hunter followed at his tail, Lotus with Gaea and her new aspen-bow. Gaea no longer pulsed with green energy, but the falchion still glinted with an impish light when sunlight reflected from the flat of the blade.

Feeling animated, Lotus fingered Gaea's hilt, feeling the rough, yet natural indentations in the silvery handle. Her paw tingled when she gripped the sword with strength, warmth sapping into her fur. Gaea felt like a friend, a friend that she had known since she was born, yet she had only first seen it about an hour ago.

"Enjoying your new sword, Lotus?" Hunter questioned suddenly, startling her.

Lotus preened the fur behind her ears, trying to hide the embarrassment. "Of course, Commander, sir."

"You needn't call me Commander anymore," said Hunter, shaking his head. "That is a title that I held for less than a day and carry no longer."

"I don't care what Prowlus says," she replied loyally. "You're still Commander to me, sir."

As Hunter rubbed his eyes, his whiskers twitched in amusement.

"Follow me. I want a word with the two of you before you go," Terrador said, his voice as deep and guttural as a bear's. Without waiting for a response, he turned slowly but somehow regally towards the edge of the encampment. Fascinated, Lotus watched the ripples of Terrador's muscles as he moved.

Briefly, she wondered where Lennox was. Her brother had always been good to her, she knew that as a fact. He may have always been a hopeless vagabond, but he had never gone so far as to desert her. Of course, ever since her parents had died, he had grown farther away from her and Aspen.

_Aspen_. The name reverberated in her head. She pushed it away, not wanting to think about it. Instead, she hopped after Terrador and Hunter, passing through camp.

The moles and dragons looked up from their work occasionally to see her, but she avoided their eyes timidly. Lotus was by no means accustomed to large crowds, especially of a different species. She skirted around a rectangular, striped green tent, brushing against the soft fabric.

They stopped before the crest of the hill, looking down upon the new marshlands and the forest beyond. Lotus looked closer and saw the indentations in the mud where she and Hunter had entered.

Terrador motioned for Lotus and Hunter to come closer. She peered up at his enormous figure, slightly reserved.

"I realize that you must follow Lennox's trail before it becomes stale," Terrador said. "However, I have a few words of advice before you leave."

When Hunter nodded, Terrador continued. "I foresee that you will not return for some time. And you will be off for the better. One may only expand oneself when one expands one's horizon."

Lotus crossed her eyebrows. Was he talking about her? She hadn't thought that it would be _that _hard to find Lennox.

"You must hold faithful to your heart," said the green dragon urgently, "that purpose, a sense of commitment, is more important than anything in the world. As long as you have a driving force behind you, you will not fail."

"Do you mean my will… my will to find Lennox?" Lotus asked.

"Yes, but I think that you will find that your driving force is more than that," Terrador murmured sagely. Before Lotus could ask again, he shifted a weathered paw to quiet her. "You have the core of a warrior, and that is what truly matters. Even so, you must always remember that if the home is with those who care about you, the house can always vary."

While Lotus met the dragon's deep forest eyes in confusion, Hunter crossed his arms. "Terrador, do you mind if I ask one more favor of you. You have done so much for us, and we are forever in your debt."

"And what favor is this?" Terrador replied curiously.

"If any trouble manages to… befall the tribe, can you lend a hand?"

"Why of course! You need not ask me to do that," said the guardian politely.

He turned back to Lotus and beamed openly. "I think that you have an adventure on your hands, now. Be off, and when in doubt, trust in your sword."

"But…" Lotus paused, unsure of her authority to question Terrador. "But, I've never even used a sword before now."

"Ah, Lotus. Did you not realize?" Terrador flicked his tail in Hunter's direction. "Fate couldn't have chosen a better person for you to be entangled with. I do believe that we have a master-swordsman in our presence.

While Hunter looked bashful, Lotus touched her lips in pleasant surprise. The tribe normally did not use long-swords. Only the heroes of the past had ever held them. Then again, she thought, Hunter wasn't a normal cheetah.

"Alas," Terrador started again. "Now is not the time to train your skills. That may come later, in lighter times. For now, you have your own quest."

Lotus stared back, eyes wide open. She had so many questions that still lay unanswered! What was the home, the force, the horizon?

Hunter tugged at her tunic. "We'd better go, then. The greatest thanks from us for your help!"

"I would wish you luck, but I don't think that you will need it," Terrador blinked. "May the ancestors be ever at your back."

"And the same to you," Hunter replied.

Reluctantly, Lotus followed after Hunter, stealing glances at Terrador every few moments. The forest ahead of them indeed looked a long way off.

"Hunter, I think I found something, sir!"

Tracking Lennox had been a cinch for the two cheetahs. The indentations left by her brother's hind feet had dried in the sun, leaving an obvious trail from the woods outside of the Forbidden Passage to the foot of the uncharted realm, the deciduous forest.

Before long, Hunter and Lotus had stumbled upon a line of fallen brush, a path which, judging by the perfect cuts on the stems, had been left by something carrying a sharp object. The footprints left by four-toed pads and claw-marks, the skewed leaves, and the occasional strip of teak-colored cloth were all telltale signs of a biped in a rush.

"Look, Hunter!" Lotus repeated earnestly, pointing at an ancient tree. "Do you see this?"

The line of slashed bushes had ended here. Lotus ran her pad over the oak, feeling the spot where a rather large chunk of bark had been torn off. She twisted her head to the side curiously.

Hunter jogged towards the old oak. "What is it?"

"Do you notice anything odd about this score-mark?" she asked, a furrow in her eyebrows.

After pulling his hood back, he touched the glossy spot, scratching at the clean cut through the tree where the bark had fallen. "Hmm," he said. "I wasn't expecting to find any evidence so soon."

Lotus looked closer at the scratch. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that it shouldn't have been so easy to follow Lennox," he replied drily.

Placing her paw on her head, Lotus looked down. Her eyes widened suddenly, and she gasped.

"Hunter, there's blood here!" she whispered.

Dark droplets flecked the oak roots like a disease. One sliver of rustic red smeared the base of the tree.

"This is what I was afraid of," said Hunter critically, biting his lip.

Eyes glossing in worry, Lotus unsheathed Gaea and slid the falchion through the indentation in the tree. The sword passed into the mark as if it were made to fit there. Heart throbbing, she looked back down at the blood.

"Look for other signs of a fight," Hunter added, summing up her thoughts. "And keep that sword out."

Wiping her forehead, she looked again at the red flecks as Hunter turned around to search on the ground. Lotus bent down, trying to imagine what could have happened here. Somebody had to have leaned against the tree for the smear to happen, and the droplets were all confined to a single area, not splattered about over the entire trunk.

She scratched at the bloodied roots halfheartedly. They couldn't possibly find out what had happened here without any other clues. There were thousands of ways that the blood could have gotten there and thousands of directions that Lennox could have taken. A crow cackled harshly nearby, making Lotus wish all the more that she had wings.

For minutes after that, there was no activity, and Hunter continued to walk in circles, tracing paths from tree to tree. Lotus, growing worried, studied the tree more closely. The bark grew in striated platelets, no two pieces the same. She traced through one of the indentations between the platelets with Gaea, careful not to make a scratch in the tree. A soft humming sound issued forth from somewhere around her, but she could have been imagining it.

For the first time since they'd left Terrador, she remembered the bow hanging at her back. The sleek, elegantly carved limbs were such a light load that they were barely noticeable. She fingered the aspen wood subconsciously.

"Come over here, Lotus," said Hunter suddenly, causing her to jump.

"What is it, sir?"

He beckoned for her to move in close and pointed at the ground. "Do you see what I see?"

What first caught her attention was the strip of cloth, similar to the other pieces that they had found along the path that Lennox had laid. The grayish-brown fabric jolted a pang of familiarity in Lotus's thoughts. Her eyes followed from the cloth to a grayish patch of something in the leaves. She could have mistaken it for a rock.

Hunter stepped in and picked up the gray object, then opened his pouch and pulled out two more identical clumps.

"It's a perfect match," he observed unnecessarily. "All three of them."

"If you don't mind me asking, what are they?"

He held the clumps closer to her face. "Gray fur," Hunter answered. "I found these other two back at home. One in the village and the other… in the forest."

Lotus gulped. "And that one from the forest… You wouldn't have found that when… when _it_ happened?"

"Actually, I saw this piece of fur before it happened." He paused, thinking. "I had my suspicions, but these findings seem too coincidental to be mere accidents."

"You're not saying that all of this was intentional, right?" she said, shivering. "This thing can't be out to… finish off our family?"

"No, I doubt it. I'm sure that it has something to do with either cheetahs or dragons as a whole," he reassured her. "Then again, if it is a matter against one of us, it's a matter for all of us."

Lotus scratched her ears. "Are you sure that Chief Prowlus would feel the same way, sir?"

A smooth wind blew across the forest floor, causing leaves to ripple. "Lotus, I'm not even sure why Prowlus appointed me, especially if he's not going to listen to me. One could almost think that he did it just to appease me."

"But what are we going to do now?" she asked, despairing. "It's like we've reached a dead end. We can't go back to the village without Lennox, and we don't know which way to go! By the gods, I wish he'd never run off like this!"

Hunter didn't answer, and all fell silent for a few moments. The wind still rustled the bushes, causing Lotus's fur to swish in the breeze. She watched the leaves shift over the ground, dancing around trees, then turned her gaze back to Hunter. He seemed transfixed by something near the oak tree, and for a while, he stood there, looking at the floor.

"What are you looking at?" Lotus asked curiously.

He pointed a small distance from the trunk. "Do you see those marks over there?"

Lotus stepped in closer to get a better view. "Whatever they are, they don't look like cheetah tracks."

Indentations where leaves had been upturned by wind stood out in the soil. The imprints had a reptilian appearance, with long, connected claw-marks.

"Those are footprints of a dragon," said Hunter. "It looks like Terrador's little hunting party may have come to rest here."

"Do you think that they may have found Lennox?" she inquired hopefully.

"We don't have any reason to believe that Lennox and the dragons were here at the same time."

"But what if it was the dragons that met the thing that's been dropping the fur?" she argued.

"We can't assume, though," he said determinedly. "There's only one way to find out what has happened here, and that is to talk to the persons involved."

"And how are we going to find them if their trails all end here?"

"Ahh," Hunter exhaled. "Now that was the point that I was getting to. I have a hunch that your brother took note of whatever direction that the dragons flew and took off in that general direction."

The thoughts took a moment to process in Lotus's head. "So, you mean that he continued north?"

Hunter nodded. "Which means that he could have gone that way," he said, pointing past the oak, "or, he might just have made a mistake and followed Cynder and Sabina's group, which is to the west as I remember Terrador telling us."

"Go and check for signs just to the north," Hunter continued. "I'll look to the left."

With a quick _yes-sir_ to Hunter, Lotus skirted around the old tree and pushed her way through the fronds of a bush, Gaea still in her hand. Sometimes, she wondered exactly how Hunter's mind functioned. The possibility that Lennox could have misguidedly moved to the west would never have crossed her own mind.

Many minutes passed as Lotus stumbled around the clearing, moving aside ferns with her paws rather than chopping them aside with Gaea. An army of insects had emerged as the sun dropped through the sky. She brushed them aside as they flew into her face and eyes. Occasionally, a small breeze would escape through the forest canopy, creating a small relent in the waves of bugs.

Finding a trail that led to the north could be a problem. Perhaps the open plain would broaden their line of view and enable them to see Lennox, but if Terrador's explanation had been even half-way accurate, the scorching heat would be enough to finish the two cheetahs off.

As she raised Gaea again, trying to wipe a persistent gnat that had burrowed into her fur from her face, a faint chord rang through the meadow. Though scarcely audible, the sound was simple and mellow, yet somehow sweet. Lotus dropped the sword to her side again, her mouth gaping. The sound stopped as if it had never been.

Inquisitively, she lifted Gaea into the air another time. There it was again. The sound reminded her of wind at the beach, yet there was an organized feeling about it, as if something was controlling the elements. Still, there was no sign of the source, no movement among the tree trunks.

"Odd," Lotus murmured, fascinated.

"What on earth are you doing?" called a voice behind her.

She swiveled around, startled, to see Hunter, his ears perked up in excitement. Slightly embarrassed, she sheathed Gaea, but listened out for any hint of the chord. Nothing.

Hunter gestured for Lotus to follow. "While you were here practicing your sword-handling techniques," he began, "I found something that you might want to see."

He led her back towards the end of Lennox's tracks, his cape swishing as he avoided the occasional root or rock. He lifted the fronds of a fern and motioned towards a something on the ground. Lying beside the fern was another paw-print.

"Put your foot next to that mark," Hunter ordered.

Still thinking about the strange sound, she complied, then took her paw out of the soil.

"Identical," Hunter observed. "I'm assuming that you know what that means?"

"That would be back to Avalar… So he followed the dragons going to the mountains?" she guessed, shrugging her shoulders.

Hunter dipped his head a pointed further ahead. Past the fern, a long line of paw-prints where the soil was uncovered swerved through the forest, pointing straight ahead.

"Looks like you were right, then, sir," she said. "Have I ever told you that you're brilliant?"

"Have I ever told you that you ask too many questions?"

An awkward silence permeated the air around Cynder as she flew, surrounding her like a cloud of smoke. Her gaze occasionally flitted to Sabina, adorned in her bronze platelets. The atmosphere had felt this tense since they broke off from the main group. Sabina's silence was almost more uncomfortable than her pompous speech.

Cynder felt her leg shaking and realized that her muscles were so tight that they were beginning to hurt. She tried to loosen up and push her doubts out of her mind, swerving slightly away from Sabina, who merely turned her head curiously, green eyes twinkling.

Instead, Cynder attempted to entertain herself by watching the trees below. Thousands and thousands of trees… The intricate network of forest never ceased to interest her. So many secrets hid in a forest, especially in one as endless as the one before her.

As she stared at the boughs of one particularly large tree peeking from the edge of the woods, she felt herself turn as if attracted to it. The round shape was somewhat familiar. The tree grew closer, becoming taller as both dragons glided through. Then, it hit her.

"Sabina!" she yelled excitedly, breaking through the ice. "We've already made it to Avalar! I never imagined that we'd get there so fast!"

The green dragoness looked back in genuine confusion. "Avalar? What do we need there?"

"Well, all of the cheetahs will be there, won't they?"

"And?" asked Sabina, raising her eyebrows.

Cynder let her mouth hang open for a second in surprise. "Hunter is there, remember?" she said desperately. "We have an alliance with the cheetahs now. They could probably direct us."

"Are you saying that I don't know where I am going?"

Sabina's voice sounded so cool that Cynder paused for a moment. Her words had almost seemed defensive. Cynder wondered if she had said something to offend Sabina.

"Look," said Cynder, speaking slowly. "Even if we don't need to ask directions, we need rest for our wings eventually."

"Cynder, we do not want to make this into a burden for the both of us," replied Sabina.

Cynder exhaled. She was going to have to deal with Sabina another way.

"Sabina, I know that you could keep going for a long time," Cynder admitted. "But I'm not as old as you. I don't have as much stamina."

Sabina seemed almost mollified. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she answered untruthfully. "My wings aren't nearly as strong as yours. I feel like I'm about to collapse. "

"Well…" Sabina hesitated. "I suppose that I did not take into account the inexperience of a youngling…"

The arrogance made Cynder grit her teeth, but she was determined not to show her impatience. "So we can stop?"

"I guess so," Sabina said slowly.

Cynder couldn't help but notice that a hint of relief passed through Sabina's expression. The stubborn dragoness must have been arguing for the sake of arguing.

The River of Avalar emerged from under the treetops as they neared the ancient Avalar oak. Cynder swerved around a rock face that jutted from the trees and landed smoothly beside a small cliff, followed by Sabina. A fallen log connected the precipice to another cliff, under which a babbling tributary donated its waters to the river.

At the head of the tributary, a smooth cataract slipped over the stone weathered by ages of pummeling falls. Beside the cataract, a conspicuous door with a rounded paw-mark poked from the rock. Droplets from the falls reflected light, producing a glittering effect that was only complimented by the hums of cicadas.

Solemnly, Cynder stepped over the log, turning her head at Sabina. "This is the hermit's place."

"The hermit?"

"Yes, the hermit," Cynder answered. "Spyro and I met him on our way through here. "

"What is he doing in such an isolated place?"

Sometimes, Cynder wondered if the bronze-clad warrior had a brain lodged somewhere in her thick skull. "He's a hermit," she sighed. "That is what a hermit is. They exclude themselves from society." She looked critically at Sabina, privately wishing that she could take a leaf out of the hermit's book.

"We don't have any business snooping around," she continued when Sabina, entranced by something behind Cynder, said nothing. "We should move on to the village."

"Ooor," said a voice. "Is your plight simply that you do not want to seee meee?"

Cynder's heart leaped out of her chest, and adrenaline juice bled through her veins. She staggered when she saw the figure, as menacing in daylight as he ever was in the shadows of the cave.

The cheetah's livid blue fur grew like matted grass, unkempt and soiled. Lurid green vambraces obscured the hermit's wrist, and he wore a pointed hood and matching olive-colored cloak. Most unsettling were the two shards of yellow crystal that hid in the center of the hood, the ragged cat-nose emerging from the base.

Time froze for Cynder as her eyes widened, and she felt as vulnerable as a waylaid mouse in the sights of a hungry, sharp-eyed hawk.

The hermit twisted his black staff in his grip, moving the orb of swirling particles back and forth. "The Terror of the Skies returns… though arguably does she ever leave." The words had an eerie quality to them, and Cynder couldn't decide whether the tone was questioning or observing. "The last willing servant yet to receive her payment from the second fall of the Dark Master."

"No…" she whimpered. "I didn't. I won't."

While Sabina appeared baffled, the hermit smirked deliriously. "One travels on a quest the purpose for which she knows not. Another marks the route, the magnitude of which he knows not. Juncture brings truth, and ignorance, less bliss."

Specks in Cynder's vision began to form, and she inhaled, realizing that she'd stopped breathing. "What are you doing out of your caves?" she rasped weakly.

"I still hold the key," he cackled gleefully, leaning back and shaking his head maniacally.

"You know, you wouldn't be a bad street performer," Sabina observed, causing Cynder to bristle. She didn't need Sabina's help.

The hermit waved his staff again and began running towards the waterfall. "The end of the beginning approaches! History is made, history is found!" he called, still laughing.

He slapped his paw over the stone door, his cloak twirling in the breeze, then dramatically slipped through the opening. The door immediately slammed behind him. As if synchronized, a cloud obscured the sun, throwing shadow over the two dragonesses.

"He must be mental," said Sabina. "I wouldn't listen−"

"Shut up," Cynder interrupted angrily. "You don't understand."

Sabina recoiled as if she had been struck, and Cynder immediately felt guilty.

"Look, I−" Cynder started to say.

Suddenly, a ghostly whooping broke through the waterfall. Pale shapes flitted in and out of Cynder's vision, slipping like smoke around the cracks.

"What is happening?" yelled Sabina.

Cynder looked resolutely back into Sabina's worried eyes. "The apes."

"Oh no!" she exclaimed, then spread her wings. "Let's get out of here!"

"No," Cynder asserted. "We're fighting them. I've had enough of running."

The indistinct outlines broke through the wall, penetrating it as if the stone was merely made of smoke. Cynder leapt out in front of Sabina, her teeth bared. She swiped at the first wraith. The first battle had begun.


	7. Seeds of Disaster

Cynder struck out at the spirit with her forepaw, her green eyes glinting in fury. The ghastly ape screeched as it was flung aside, headfirst. All around her, the sound of strained breathing reached her ears, broken only by the occasional cackling of one of the apes.

"Don't let them surround you!" Cynder yelled to Sabina, who was eyeing the undead beasts fearfully. "I've had experience with them before."

Her spikes glinting in the sun, Cynder twirled her tail-blade as she spun in a circle, causing some of the transparent monkeys to jump back with yelps. Their green eyes glinted malignantly even though the clouds covered the sun, and pulsing yellow light emitted from their nonetheless bulky forms. A circle of ghosts were forming around them, only broken by the small cliff which loomed behind them.

One of the bolder apes finally mustered the courage to jump in. Before it could reach Cynder's neck, she emitted a shriek which reverberated in magnitude, causing her attacker to stop mid-swipe and some of the monkeys to quaver slightly. The light of battle in her eyes, Cynder pounced on the downed ape and pounded at it with her fore-claws viciously.

Sabina, shaking herself out of shock, finally seemed to get ahold of herself, realizing that the monkeys weren't invincible. A growl welled in her throat, and she turned her back to Cynder to face the outer portion of the circle.

Lines of apes were now closing in, their hands grasping at Cynder and Sabina. Cynder threw her unfortunate quarry to the side as Sabina lashed at a group of three apes. Multiple ghosts were jumping at the two dragonesses now, their mouths agape.

"Come on!" Cynder shouted again. "We've got to separate them!"

"There are too many!" Sabina called back desperately, yelping as one of the beasts bit into her side and tore through her lustrous green scales. A flash of vivid energy escaped from Sabina's mouth, throwing one of the monkeys off the edge and into the roiling water flowing beside the cliff.

More apes were approaching from the depths of the forest, and yet more were jumping on them. Cynder spat, releasing a glob of hissing acid which sprayed several of the apes and caused them to scream. One monkey jumped onto her back, tearing at her wings painfully.

While Cynder struggled against her opponents, Sabina tucked her wings in and closed her eyes. The gabbling apes were quick to rush in on her. Then, without warning, she slammed her foot against the ground. A whirlwind of leaves rose into the air, taking up a large amount of the apes with it. They screamed and dissipated in the air, leaving a deathly mist behind them.

Sabina shuddered as if she had run a long distance before looking up in dismay to see other monkeys replacing the ones that she had beaten. Meanwhile, the apes were tearing into Cynder, overcoming her in number.

Suddenly, a strange whistling sound rang through the clearing, followed by several _ker_-_thunks _and the intensified screeching of several of the spirits. For a few moments, the fighting moved to a standstill. Cynder noticed that arrows stuck from the sides of some of the monkeys, appearing suspended in midair.

Boots stomped over the ground and capes swished as figures clothed in tunics emerged from the woods, swift as a forest fire. Cynder sighed in relief as the cheetahs surrounded the zone swiftly and efficiently. Their eyes glowed with a determined light.

The apes were at this point rushing around in a disorder, searching for either an escape route or a weak enemy. The two dragonesses kept delivering blows to the spirits while the cheetahs positioned nearer to the cataract cave entrance moved aside. As if in conjunction, the sun emerged from the cloud covering, releasing a beam of light over the fighters.

Calling mournfully, the spirits rushed towards the waterfall, dissipating through the rock again and leaving a yellow fog.

A stone-furred cheetah stepped forth from the ranks and bowed to the two dragons. Cynder stared down humbly, while Sabina eyed the cheetah distrustfully as if expecting him to spout riddles.

"Cynder, a pleasure to see you again!" piped the cheetah amiably, a hint of mischief in his blue eyes.

She didn't bother to ask how the cheetah knew her name. "Err… thanks," Cynder said lamely, unsure of how else to reply.

"And who's your lively partner here?" he continued cheerfully, looking over the significantly larger form of Sabina.

"I am Sabina," the green dragoness replied slowly. "And who might you be?"

"Oh, forgive me! My name is Drake," he said, standing back proudly.

Cynder scanned the cheetahs, looking for a familiar face, yet the ones that stared back at her were mostly blue-gray, not rustic orange. No sharp green eyes met her own, no angular muzzle.

She met Drake's eyes again. "So, how did you find us? I wouldn't have thought that Prowlus would send out a hunting party so close to the hermit's caves."

Drake gave her a funny look. "Strange that you ask that," he admitted. "We were actually on our way to Warfang. Weird things have been happening around here lately, and−"

At this point, the tan-colored cheetah beside Drake stepped on Drake's foot.

"Warfang?" Cynder asked, furrowing her eyebrows. "You wouldn't find anything at Warfang! The city's completely gone!"

"Gone?" the tan-colored cheetah repeated, surprising Cynder, who had expected this cheetah to be male. "What do you mean?"

"The city has sunken through the ground," Sabina explained, still wary of the cheetahs. "It's something to do with the plumbing."

"That would be, something to do with the aqueduct system," Cynder corrected, eliciting a hostile glance from Sabina.

Drake rolled his eyes. "An entire city sunk through the ground?"

"Wait, what do you want at Warfang?" Cynder questioned, cocking her head.

"Well…" Drake started, peering cautiously at the other cheetah and crossing his speckled arms. "We need to talk to Terrador about a matter of several… things."

"Why don't we just let them go their own way?" broke in Sabina.

Cynder glared back at the bronze-clad dragoness. "Don't you realize that Hunter might be there?"

"Who is Hunter?" she asked.

"Hunter isn't in the village right now," said Drake. "That's actually one of the reasons that we wanted to−"

"Drake!" the other cheetah reprimanded.

"Lark!" he shot back angrily. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with them knowing. Actually, I think that we're in more danger of discovery if these two slip by the village."

"But we can't just tell everybody what we're doing and not expect for it to bite us in the tail!"

For several seconds, the two cheetahs stared each other in the eyes, Drake's ice-blue irises meeting Lark's bright white. The other five or six villagers bearing javelins stood stock-still, watching the exchange.

Cynder felt her paws prickle. "We don't want to cause any trouble," she said meekly.

"It's a bit too late for that," Lark observed. "I know it's not your fault, but I think that we need to head back to the village."

"Head back?" Drake repeated incredulously, scratching his head. "We only just got started though!"

"It's pointless now. You know that I was reluctant to agree with this."

"Wouldn't you be disobeying your chief?" Cynder asked.

Drake nearly jumped out of his skin. "She knows!"

Groaning, Lark slapped her forehead exasperatedly. "She knows now, you dunderhead!" She frowned at Cynder. "Yes, as Drake so outwardly points out, we aren't acting on behalf of Chief Prowlus."

"But−" protested Drake.

"Enough talk!" Lark exclaimed urgently, clutching her bow. "Somebody's loud mouth has done enough damage, and if you haven't noticed," she paused, pointing at the clouds, "that sun isn't going to stay in the open forever. Since our plan is in shambles−" Drake received a nasty look. "−we might as well return to the village, on the word of these two."

She looked at Cynder and Sabina critically. "Do you agree not to divulge our little encounter or quest to any cheetah you may find at the village, especially Chief Prowlus?"

"Of course!" Cynder replied eagerly.

Sabina looked down doubtfully, making Cynder bristle again. _If that whimsical dimwit makes them change their minds_, she thought, _I'll personally remove her tail_.

"I guess…" she stuttered. "But we have to keep moving afterwards."

Taking the answers as a signal, the seven cheetahs strapped their bows and daggers to their clamps or holsters and began to march westward. Lark beckoned the two dragonesses onward with her paw, keeping an eye on the caves. Flecks of water still flew through the meadow formed by the cataracts, and the cave wall shimmered innocently. Yet still, a false peace seemed to hover over the place, as if the smooth rock held some secret prepared to burst forth.

The group emerged from the forest's lip, funneling out from the hermit's quarantined quarters. Cynder thought about how strange this procession must look, with the seven cheetahs trekking in front beside the river followed by the smaller black form of Cynder and the full-grown, green body of Sabina. Briefly, Cynder wondered about the times before Spyro had come into her life. She'd been the same size as Sabina, three-times larger than her current form, or so she'd been told. No memories of those dark times had remained in her head, no visions of her reign as Terror of the Skies. Sometimes, she could barely believe that these stories were true, though she knew in her heart that they were.

The Valley of Avalar opened before them, the quick-rushing river forging a cliff through the center-line and the enormous ancient oak resting before them. Sharp precipices rose in the distance, lined with ivy and wildflowers. All along the river grew a luscious green grass, as healthy as the soil was fertile.

"Mind if I walk beside you?" asked Drake, making Cynder jump.

"Er, sure."

The brawny gray cheetah matched Cynder's pace, his white hind-paws lining with her scaly forearm. Neither Sabina nor Lark had apparently noticed the exchange.

"I just wanted to know," he began immediately, "What's the deal with Warfang, and why are you out here alone with only one other dragon?"

Cynder narrowed her eyes at him. "Maybe I might be able to explain that better if I knew what this little expedition was all about."

"Ah, you know how to play my game," Drake smiled, showing his teeth. "Well I could say the same to you, couldn't I?"

"I guess you could," Cynder responded before looking at Lark, who was leading the group far ahead. "I don't have anything to hide, unlike you."

She explained everything to Drake about the Sunken City, the encampment, and the two missions, leaving out only her doubts about the two trips and misgivings with Sabina.

"So you're on your way to find this village?" he asked when she had finished. "I've heard of such a place."

"Really?"

"Yes, I actually know a trail that leads to the mountain pass from the village."

Excitement flared in Cynder's limbs. "Could you show us?"

He rubbed his lip inquisitively. "Couldn't this Sabina show you?"

"I don't think so," Cynder said doubtfully. "I get the feeling that she doesn't know where she's going."

Before Drake could ask another question, she interrupted him. "I've told you my story, now you've got to hold up your side of the deal!"

"What deal?" His eyes twinkled mischievously. "I didn't make a deal."

"Don't pull my tail!" she laughed. "You're obligated on your honor."

After a small argument during which several of the cheetahs, especially Lark, peered over their shoulders curiously, Drake finally relented.

"Very well, I'll just start from the beginning, since my side of the story is about as long as yours." He began by relating the death of Aspen to Cynder, after which he described Lennox's flight and Lotus's pursuit. "So, the chief says to Hunter, 'And don't you run after them, or you're as good as exiled.' And you know what? He still goes straight after Lotus!"

"But he was only just promoted!" Cynder gasped.

"That's the funny thing about it!" Drake said. "Never would have expected it of him. I personally think that he was just fed up with being ordered around, didn't want to become chief's pet, ya' know? So anyway, chief was obstinate on his word. He wouldn't send a tracking party out after 'em. So, next logical step? He goes and shuts himself into the leader's hut, and he hasn't been out of there since, 'cept for just once. I'm getting to that part."

"Ever since then, we two bodyguards, Lark and I, have been in charge of the entire village, sending out orders and keeping the supplies stocked. Now this is all in the course of a couple of days, as I'm sure you'll know, but in that time, the strangest things have been happening."

"For one, the animals in the forest have been riled up, and even the prey's been jittery. Then, these monkeys started leaking out of the caves yesterday. In fact, most of the problems seem to originate from that cave over there, the hermit's cave. It just feels like a flood building up, just leaking at the edges."

"Most disturbing of all was the hermit."

"We met him when we landed!" Cynder said excitedly. "I was so surprised, I'd never seen him out of his caves before!" She shuddered as she thought of his poisonous prophecies. "Did he actually go into the village?"

Drake nodded and stepped over a stray log that lay in the path. "He crawled in on all fours, spitting like the mad old codger that he is. He seemed to want to speak with the chief, so we shouted at Prowlus's door. Prowlus finally opens up, and you'da never seen a greater look of surprise on a face in your life. So he totters out of his den, and I brought him over to the hermit."

"What did he say to Prowlus?" Cynder asked.

Drake scrunched up his face, hunched over and gamboled about, and began to speak in a high-pitched cackle. "'The one releases the two. The two rides on the waters. The waters replace the one.'"

She laughed at his impression. "What do you think that means?"

"I think it's a load of hunkus."

"And I think that you're really pushing it with me, Drake!"

Drake nearly jumped out of his skin for the second time as Lark appeared before them, as if she were waiting for a chance to intervene.

"Don't think that I haven't been listening to this conversation!" Lark said coolly. "You've been spilling beans like a sick hound. I think that I need to show Cynder the right way to tell a story."

As Drake did a double-take and mumbled something that sounded oddly like "psych," Cynder turned to Lark in chagrin.

"After the hermit left, which was not too long ago, as you might now know," Lark picked up," Drake and I arranged a meeting with a select few group of cheetahs. We didn't want Chief Prowlus to be angry with us, but he just wasn't in his right mind after Commander Hunter left. We knew that Hunter had followed Lotus and Lennox, who had run towards the Forbidden Passage. Naturally, we assumed that they would run into the dragons at Warfang. Even if they didn't, Terrador might still have had some idea."

"We decided to lead a patrol through the passage to at least touch base with the dragons, but we had to do it without permission from Chief Prowlus, which I was highly reluctant to do. And all this way, I felt like I'd done something wrong. The tribe cannot afford such a split in such tender times."

"Of course, when we saw you struggling with the apes, we had to come to your aid. Are we not allies? I realize now that the entire trip was not worth the trouble…"

"But hey, at least we saved the both of you!" Drake put in.

"Thank you for that," said Cynder. "We would have been in pieces if it hadn't been for you."

"When we arrive at the village, you are not to tell anybody what has happened here," Lark commanded, eyeing the cheetah establishment that was growing larger with every step.

"Right," Drake piped up. "We found you when we set out on a hunting party."

"You gave us your word," Lark reminded her.

"I won't say a word about the trip," Cynder promised, stretching her wings out.

"Ya' know, I'm really starting to like dragons," Drake announced. "At least, they're a lot better than tetchy young−"

While Lark kicked Drake in anger, Cynder ran ahead to the front of the group. Lark and Drake's story must have taken longer than she thought, because the wooden cheetah barracks were already only a few yards away. The open wooden barracks brought back memories of the war, the place in which they'd been captured and then released. She'd always wished that she could have more time in the village, and briefly, even slightly guiltily, she was glad that she could be in the village by herself, do something herself, for once.

Meanwhile, a couple hundred miles in distance from the cheetah village, thoughts about Cynder were revolving in Spyro's head as if in conjunction with Cynder's own thoughts. He wondered if she'd been having a more interesting experience than he was. The flight had been uneventful, the monotony broken only by conversations at odd intervals.

Rays of sunshine faded into the distance, the exotic light of dusk illuminating the clouds above. A red light reflected from them, flooding the forested landscape in a sea of opaque blood. Fantasizing idly, Spyro gazed into the clouds. Thin wisps of fluffy cotton stretched across the atmosphere, bordered by more robust cumulonimbi. His head began to droop intermittently as sleep threatened to engulf him.

"We have arrived!" sang out Volteer grandly, jolting Spyro out of his daydreaming yet again. "The desert awaits us!"

"Wha-" Spyro mumbled incomprehensibly, looking wildly about. Then, his eyes settled on the scene before him, and his jaw dropped.

An open plain of off-color formations lay before the two dragons, the smooth, rolling hills appearing almost unnaturally. The desert seemed like an unmade bed with thousands of ruffled sheets. Yet, most astounding about the entire scene was the bath of red light that shone upon the sandy crevices, creating the appearance of a roiling ocean at the edge of the world. No defined line separated the desert and the forest, and Spyro felt that if he dove down, he might never reach the ground.

At the edges of visible terrain, a fuzzy line of green jotted the other end of the desert, obscured slightly by an evening mist. Cyril's comment about the everglades entered Spyro's mind again. The presence of those trees on the other side meant that they would be fairly close to the other end of the ocean. The welcome feeling of optimism was flowing once again.

"Is it just me, or is it a bit windy up here?" asked Sparx, shrugging his shoulders.

Spyro sighed. "Trust you to think of the weather."

"The moment calls for the alighting stage!" Volteer called, flicking his bright yellow tail. "I sense the necessity for a cessation of flight!"

Sparx rolled his eyes. "Why can't you just say 'Let's land'!"

The two dragons tucked their wings in and dipped to the ground as Sparx followed leisurely. Exhilarated by the rush of air under his chest, Spyro closed his eyes for several seconds, savoring the dive through the twilight-illuminated airspace.

He remembered the first time that he'd flown, guided by Ignitus. _Let the art of flying come from you. Feel it. Don't harness the flight, be one with it_, the words of the fire guardian echoed through his thoughts.

Suddenly, his wings began to jerk. For a moment, he thought that his old inexperience had returned to him. Then, he saw that Volteer was having the same troubles.

Wind buffeted Spyro's wings, and his membranous flaps threatened to jerk out and tear. Letting out a shout, he crashed into Volteer and barreled off of the enormous dragon like a pinball. He was spiraling out of control, the world spinning in through his vision. The trees below him grew closer and closer, preparing to swallow them whole.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Volteer straining to tuck his wings back in. He tried to do the same, but the ground was simply approaching too fast and the wind would not relent. The air currents were tossing him every which way, and he couldn't control the direction in which his body moved.

An outlying tree zoomed into view, and time moved to a standstill. The tree gaped and swayed as if preparing to intentionally strike him. Spyro's purple head shook from the strain, but he could do nothing.

_Snap! _His wing clicked against burly branch. Spyro yelled at the top of his voice, then slammed into the ground. A wave of blackness overtook him, and he knew no more.

"Well, here we are at home sweet home!"

Drake gave the dragons an entertaining bow, rotating his forearm just as a personal butler would. Cynder giggled while Sabina raised her eyebrows, looking surly.

"Don't be a buffoon, Drake," growled Lark before addressing the dragons, her bright eyes flashing. "Now, I'm trusting you two to play along with the act. We were monitoring for ape attacks and heard the wild commotion and rushed to help. You play your own part, and keep to your story of traveling. Just don't mention our plans, even if they are broken."

They nodded again, and Lark, apparently satisfied, slung her staff onto her back and motioned for them to enter the barracks.

The old village had not changed much since the last time Cynder had seen it. The open-aired flax huts that she and Spyro had worked so hard to defend still stood. A hearty fire burned, driving away the growing shadows building along the rollicking hills.

All along, village life prevailed. Every once in a while, a pairing of cheetahs, curiously pricking their ears and shifting eyes, would pass the group carrying an enormous piece of firewood. Older female cheetahs and younger maids with charms hanging around their necks and arms worked intently at patching warrior tunics with elegant wooden tools and a strange material that looked like tree bark. Two or three agile sentries patrolled the barracks, pacing from end to end. In the center of the village by the fire was the chief's hut.

While the other cheetahs in the group merged into the village, Drake and Lark led the two dragons to the circular hut.

Cynder watched as Lark exhaled slowly, held up her fist, and knocked on the door.

"What's it now?" asked an irritated voice inside.

"Chief Prowlus," Lark answered. "We have visitors."

"Well tell 'em to go away."

Drake's eyes widened, and Lark shifted uncomfortable against the door. "But Chief Prowlus, they were assaulted by the apes on a mission that could very well affect us!"

The sound of grumbling reverberated from inside the wooden hut, and the door swung open.

The figure that emerged from the hut was barely recognizable. The chief's normally sleek sunset-colored hair was disheveled, matted, and filthy. A wild look pervaded bloodshot green eyes, further enhanced by a bloody scratch across his forehead. The hair puffing out from Prowlus's cheeks might have been comical had Cynder not known what the proud chief looked like before.

"Sir, you know Cynder, and this is Sabina," Lark said desperately, exchanging a glance with Drake.

"Oh, yes, I know Cynder, yes I do," he growled, before mumbling something unintelligible. "You know what, you've been deciding so much for… the tribe… I don't−"

He stumbled, and Lark moved in to catch him before he fell. He corrected himself and pushed her away.

"Whay don't you just go off and do whatever y' want!" he slurred, swaying again before collecting himself. "Won't change anything anyhow."

The door slammed in Lark's face, and though the wood didn't come into contact with her, she stepped back and stumbled as if hit to the heart with a barbed arrow. For a moment, her eyes glistened, but she shook her head and wiped them off.

"Drake, find Cynder and Sabina somewhere to sleep," said Lark shakily. "I need to… do something."

She ran in the direction of the woods as Drake watched, a purely perplexed expression written on his face.

Drake shrugged. "Follow me, I guess," he laughed sheepishly.

The open hut that Drake showed them was simple and homely, a roofed platform supported by stilts.

"This hut," the bodyguard commented, "was Hunter's before he left."

"Oh," Cynder replied, taken aback. "Thanks…"

"No problem. Sorry for the inconvenience, given the state of things around here."

Drake began to leave, setting a stride for the forest where Lark had gone.

"Wait, can I ask you something?" Cynder called out before he could get out of earshot.

He ran back, a glint of surprise in his blue-gray eyes.

"Drake, is there any way that I could speak to Meadow?"

The cheetah seemed even more confused. "I thought that I told you," he said. "Meadow's gone, too."

_Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!_

Pressures surrounded Spyro, making his head and neck feel strange. He twitched as if in slow motion. _I must be underwater_.

A small object hit his stomach repeatedly. The creature must be a fish. If it was a fish, it was certainly a loud one. A whirring noise bounced through his ears every time the thing hit him.

"Stop it!" he objected, but the fish kept pounding against his side.

_Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!_

What a headache he had! At least he could breathe underwater. He'd never been able to breathe underwater before, but that didn't seem to be a problem anymore.

_Thump!_

"Will you quit it already!"

_Thump!_

"Roan wum roan," garbled a voice.

"I've had it!"

_Smack!_

His eyes snapped open and he emerged from the chaos.

Of all of the odd happenings around Spyro, the first that he noticed was that he was lying down in a bed of mixed sand and soil and that an enormous pain throbbed through his back. The second was the electricity dragon standing next to a barren tree where a vast sea of sand began and finally, he saw the dragonfly splayed out smack-face down, spitting out sand.

Then, everything flowed back into his mind like quicksilver.

Dreading what he might see, he gritted his teeth and cocked his head to look at his back. A mangled mass of membrane lay on his back, exposed bone flapping at the side. Disgusted, he closed his eyes and turned his head away.

"Muy dib joo," said Sparx, carefully removing his head from the sand. "Hid be?"

"What?" Spyro asked hoarsely, looking around wildly.

Sparx spit out a wad of sand. "I said, why did you hit me? I was trying to wake you up!"

"D-did I?"

"What happened?" he demanded before Sparx could answer. "How long have I been lying here?"

"Since yesterday…" Volteer replied solemnly.

Spyro stood up slowly, wincing as sore muscles tightened at his thighs. Sick to the stomach and conscious of the bloody mass sliding to his side, he tried to ignore the feeling.

"Did the fall do this?"

"Yes, I concluded with my hypothesis that−"

"Just tell him what happened!" Sparx yelled.

"When you… erm… collided with the tree, Spyro," Volteer began, "you fractured virtually all of the bones and incised the delicate tissue of your wing m-m-membrane. Your prognosis seems−"

"Just tell him that bad news!" Sparx cut in.

"That is precisely what I was about to divulge," Volteer said, irritated.

"I won't be able to fly anymore, will I?" Spyro asked openly.

Volteer dipped his head. "We can return to the S-Sunken City. I know that Terrador might have some manner of remedy."

"No!" Spyro shouted back. "If we go back now, that means that I've left Cynder for nothing! We haven't gotten this far for nothing! And most of all, I haven't broken my wings for nothing! I don't know what you're doing, but I'm not turning back."

"Admirably valiant, young dragon, but−"

"No," Spyro repeated adamantly. "I stick by my word. We cross the desert now."

"Are you insane!" Sparx said incredulously. "We're not getting anywhere with you like that! You've been ejected from the official flying club!"

Volteer blinked, doubt creeping through his aerodynamic yellow face. "Are you sure? You've accepted this grievance quite vigorously and perhaps hurriedly. You do realize that you might never…"

At that moment, Spyro received the full impact of the blow. Volteer didn't need to finish his sentence.

"Is your answer the same?" Volteer asked, twitching his head sympathetically.

Spyro looked back at the mess on his back again. One wing hung limply at the side, while the other overlapped the other wing, spiraled with rips and tears. What if he could never use them again? What if he never got to feel the rush of wind at his face, the cool feeling of riding on a blanket of air?

"Yes," he replied without thinking.


	8. Attacker in Hot Pursuit

Volteer, surprisingly enough, did not argue with Spyro's decision, though Spyro regretted having spoken immediately after doing so. Terrador would have some way to patch his wings, he knew it. Something about going back on his word kept him from speaking up.

"Night approaches," the electricity guardian commented, noting the fading red light bordering the green trees to the left on the horizon. "Obscure shadows might be to our sought advantage, nonetheless, as heat accumulation is minimal. The desert is an unforgiving biome to even the wielders of the element of fire, though less so. Flight will not be possible, for reasons other than your… idyllically and p-p-perhaps sublimely provisional… condition. As such, we should initiate our trek now."

Sparx crossed his arms and scowled. "And what about food?"

"That is not of our concern at the moment."

"Sheesh, just wondering."

Volteer's prominent vivid azure breast plates shone in the light of twilight. "The reason that none of us, perchance excepting Sparx, will be able to fly is not because you are incapable, Spyro," he repeated. "Rather, the reason that we cannot fly is in fact the reason for which you became… provisionally… incapable: desert winds."

"I admit that I must apologize for u-underestimating the winds, for I knew that they existed. The winds are the very explanation for the formation of this megathermal habitat. Pressure of exertion on the distant mountains to the west force concentrated and potentially powerful waves of energy to the east, waves known as katabatic winds."

"Inertia preserves the kinetic energy of the katabatic forces and weathers the landscape, causing erosion. Thus, once roots are removed, the land is permanently desertified, at least until the weathering process is terminated. Moreover, the desert is expanding. This inter-zonal region of sparse foliage that you see will not be visible in several centuries."

"Great," said Sparx, who had begun to drool and nod off. "Now that we know what wind is, can we find something to eat?"

Ignoring Sparx, Volteer started forward, tucking in his wings tightly. "Time is of the essence. We should not delay."

Spyro said nothing, choosing instead to follow Volteer, wincing as his rested muscles seized up. His claws met the coarse sand which grew ever finer as the trees grew yet sparser. Twilight had quickly turned around, leaving a purple pall in the sky and a dark, monochromatic scheme on the earth.

They broke through the last of the scraggly bushes, and the wind was quick to attack again. Spyro's shriveled wings flapped uselessly to his other side, tugging somewhat painfully, while Volteer struggled to keep his closed. Not for the first time, Spyro envied Sparx's carefree flying ability.

At that moment, the indefatigable dragonfly zipped by Spyro's golden horn. "We'll be at those trees in no time!" he pointed out excitedly. "Look how close they are! This'll be nothing!"

Sparx could never have been more wrong.

At first, the walk through the desert had been, if possible under Spyro's given condition, almost pleasant. His paws slipped through the sand like water, and he felt like he was walking through warm, radiating air. The heat from the day that the sand had absorbed funneled into his purple body, energizing him, but not removing the aches from his body and the caged sensation that had overwhelmed him from the start.

Then, the sand began to clump up, pelting the dragons with millions of bullets that caked into the crevices of their scales. For a fleeting second until he remembered the crippling truth, Spyro was almost glad that his wings were smaller than Volteer, who had to fight to keep his enormous blue and electric yellow appendages from catching air resistance and taking him into the sky.

The wind sent a sandstorm of smaller sand particles into the air, blinding Spyro's eyes and choking him. Sparx clung to Spyro's left horn, trying to avoid the sand blasts.

Meanwhile, the sand was losing heat as much as the night was becoming pitch-black. The comfort brought by the warmth of the residual heat disappeared like a slippery fish, replaced by cooler winds.

Soon, Spyro's steps dropped into a monotonous rhythm. Left step, right step. Left step, right step. One foot in front of the other. The trek was an unbroken melody of a single pitch and a single note of a single length.

A marauding sense of incompleteness surrounded him in a cloud of smoke, and pangs flowed from his tail to his nose, making him sick. He felt as if a part of him had been cut off, a feeling that one might experience in a nightmare in which a leg or arm is lost, though this particular one was not a dream.

Frustratingly, the line of everglade in the distance grew no closer with each step. In fact, Spyro could almost swear that the trees actually mockingly ran farther away, evading the unfortunate group traveling through the barren desert.

Miserably, he let his head droop, causing Sparx to yelp in discomfort as sand grit hit him from behind Spyro's horn.

Volteer, as if sensing Spyro's thoughts, padded closer. "Is everything alright, Spyro?" he asked loudly above the wind, looking concerned.

"I'm okay," Spyro answered almost inaudibly.

Volteer's doubtful headshake was barely discernible through the darkness. "I believe, verily, that I can identify with your current state to some extent."

Spyro raised his head curiously.

"You see, when I was a young dragon, as you, I had a brother named Magnus. Now, I'm not the most passionate or adept of storytellers," Volteer admitted wistfully, "but I can convey the bone-bare point."

"We were the same age, living in Warfang, or the Sunken City, as now entitled, in an uncluttered apartment home beside the old library. We came to reside in that area after eighteen years of grueling, persistent training at the dragon temple. "

Volteer paused as the wind picked up and whistled loudly in their ears, then continued as it subsided. "I remember that we knew our parents quite well, which was rare for dragons of Warfang. Tradition was to rear hatchlings away from the influence of their parents, but yes, Magnus and I were both quite familiar with our parents."

"Does that mean that I might not have known my parents even if the war hadn't happened?" Spyro interrupted eagerly, suddenly hopeful. "Did you know my parents? Are they still alive?"

"Funny that you ask," said Volteer slowly. "I do know your parents, but I don't know if they yet live."

"What were their names?"

Volteer shifted his head in the dark. "It is not the time for you to know that, Spyro. At any rate, to adhere to strict relevancy, I recall one unfortunately fateful evening in which the Magnus and I were in flight to our parents' residency, some few squares away, when I scraped the edge of the chapel spire with one of my wings."

"I, like you, lost control and rolled off of the building rather ungracefully. I remember that Magnus was rather amused, though I had lost nervous sense in my wing and didn't regain any feeling for several months. The rips in my right wing are yet visible, though I can't display them to you in this raucous katabatic pandemonium."

"And did you have to have medical treatment for that?" Spyro inquired suspiciously.

"Well… y-y-yes," Volteer chirped.

Spyro fell silent for several moments. Did that mean that he'd made the wrong decision, that he would never again watch the ground whir from under his wings? He noticed that Volteer had looked away and continued walking. Spyro couldn't shake the wonder at why Volteer couldn't reveal the names of Spyro's parents even though he knew them.

Shivers racked Spyro's spine, causing an even colder Sparx to bounce wildly on Spyro's horn as if he were in a rodeo. The desert air was even colder than Dante's Freezer, a strange island that he had once explored under direction of Ignitus. If he'd known that the desert was also the coldest place on earth…

In the least, his body was so numb that all of the tactile sense and pains in his body had abandoned him. Less fortunately, the night was utter black with no stars in the sky, and the sand grit had not relented.

"H-h-hey, Sp-Sp-Sp-Spyro," Sparx chattered. "You m-m-m-mind shoot-shooting some m-m-magic out of your m-m-mo-mouth?"

Spyro shook his head, opened his mouth, and tried to search for any source of heat in his body. He concentrated the fire in his chest and prepared to release a slow stream.

"Ahh!"

The ground disappeared from under his feet, and he tumbled down a sandy slope, rolling in cartwheels. He felt the broken wings on his back flapping and knew that they were going to hurt when he thawed. As he hit the base of the sand hollow, he belched a ball of flame.

"Mph!" said a voice from under his body. Spyro rose tenderly, not aware of his surroundings from the darkness around him.

"You fat lard, watch where you fall!" Sparx chided angrily.

"Spyro?" Volteer called from not far above. "Sparx?"

"We're down here Volteer," Spyro answered weakly, surprised by the lack of wind. "I think we've fallen through some sort of ridge."

"Yes, the depressions extend a reasonable distance, and I don't believe that this is the only ridge," Volteer called down the hole. "Be aware that I am following!"

A mound of sand hit Spyro in the face as Volteer slid down into the hollow. When the electricity guardian finally reached the base, he bumped Spyro's side.

"This might be problematically a contingency."

"Why don't we stop here?" offered Spyro. "These ridges might cause us to change direction, and I don't fancy going back out into the sand."

"Has somebody got a light other than me?" Sparx asked.

"Hold on," Spyro said hoarsely. "I think that I feel some roots down here."

He let out a quick burst of flame now that he was warmed up to his element, and the spark engulfed the bone-dry roots as fast as lightning. The fire illuminated base of the ridge, revealing a sandy Volteer and an indignant-looking Sparx. Two gentle slope of about twenty feet in height rose from either side of the ridge.

The two dragons gathered around the fire and settled down against the slope. A prickling sensation enveloped Spyro as he thawed off, first at his toes and then up his legs. The heat was painful but welcoming, and his eyes drooped slowly from the exhaustion of the past few days. His flank rose and fell more regularly. The last that he saw before he nodded off was the light of Sparx beside him.

The air felt wonderful against Spyro's face as he glided through the midday air over the beautiful plains of Avalar. Hunter waved at him from the side of the river, and there was Prowlus… and Meadow and Sparx and all four guardians. Ignitus, scales as red as the sunset and orange eyes twinkling, winked playfully at Spyro as he glided past.

"You've done well, Spyro," Ignitus said warmly, beaming. "Your job here is over. You've saved the world, and I could never be more proud of you."

Then, further ahead, could it be? By the great oak?

"Cynder!" Spyro cried out joyfully.

The two dragons met in the air, embracing and nuzzling happily. "I didn't think that I would see you again for so long!" Spyro shouted gleefully.

The warmth of the sun hit Spyro and Cynder's scales as they rose higher and higher. Soon, they were at the top of the world. Their world.

"Spyro, we could rule the entire Earth together!" Cynder said excitedly. "Just you and me, king and queen of the whole planet!"

"But Cynder," Spyro replied. "How do we rule the world from so high up?"

"You're supposed to know," Cynder shot back almost accusingly. "You're the purple dragon. That's your role."

"Nobody said that I had to do that!"

"I DID!"

Suddenly, Cynder wasn't Cynder anymore. Her slender figure morphed into something else, something more sinister. Elegant, narrow horns were replaced by cruel, curved bone, and the eyes became a murky purple. She grew two… three… four times her size. She… he was purple.

Malefor stared at Spyro, his eyes chips of fire. "You are not worthy of the title of purple dragon."

"But… I defeated you," Spyro answered weakly, cowering.

"Only I am worthy of your title! You chose to abandon your privileges when you refused my offer! Be gone from this earth."

He reached out and took Spyro's wings from his back, then breathed a dark energy onto them. In Spyro's place was another version of Spyro, a darker one, with white, pupil-less eyes.

Spyro was falling deep into the volcano, with no way to support himself. The spirits of the past guardians were returning to take him away, to chain him into the Vault of Souls.

He stood up on the cold, hard stone floor. He looked at his back. Tattered, cyan wings met his gaze, with scales of the same pall. He was in an archaic library with floating books. There was the black tome that he had perused so many times, then the books of yellow, red, blue, green, white, and most importantly, purple.

A watching pool shone before him. He bent his head and peered into the pool. A forest of evergreen trees emerged from the pool. The view zoomed closer, and a cabin loomed atop a waterfall. Watching from the porch was an orange dragon with electric blue frills.

"The dragon with no record," Spyro said to himself. His voice seemed strange, not his own, almost recognizable as from someone that he'd known in his past.

The point of view in the pond panned to the side as the landscape moved to the south. From what Spyro could see, the cabin was by no means far from the sands of the south. He squinted to look closer, seeing a purple speck with a yellow light around it running across the sands at full speed.

Spyro was looking at himself in the desert, racing away from a hooded figure that reflected blinding green light. He somehow knew that this figure wouldn't look this way from the standpoint of a normal onlooker, but the pool sometimes revealed the influences and natures of objects and people. This green light indicated an inner power, one that would be nigh invincible.

"You'll be hard-pressed to win this race, but the reward will be unimaginable," he said to himself. "Go, Spyro. Let it come from you."

"Spyro, buddy, don't move!"

Spyro opened his eyes and stared at his chest. A snakelike head stared him in the eyes. There was some type of lizard crawling across his side, mottled orange and black with a long and wide tail. He stifled a yell as it slid over his breastplate and stopped. A black tongue flicked out of a shiny, scaly mouth.

"That's a gila monster!" Volteer piped up animatedly from a distance, Sparx flying by his head. "The gila monster is one of the only venomous lizards in the entire world. It lives for the most part underground but surfaces for food to fill the fat reserve in the tail when the skin is shed. The lizard inserts his potent venom into the victim by clamping and chewing−"

"Stop it, will you," Sparx interrupted crossly. "Now that we know the eating habits of the thing, use some magic for goodness sake!"

"No!" Volteer protested as the lizard crawled towards Spyro's head. "The gila monster is exceedingly rare and rarely aggressive. Do not kill it."

"Well, then, how do you get it off of you?" Spyro questioned desperately.

"Just wait."

Waiting was all very well when the thing was flicking its tongue speedily and touching Spyro's nose. One bite from the gila monster and he would be poisoned. If only Volteer would let him use his elements.

Then, the mottled black and orange lizard seemed to lose interest and crawled from Spyro's side, scurrying through the sand and leaving a trail. Volteer and Sparx closed in.

"Great thing you didn't panic," Sparx sighed. "I would have lost my brother."

"Listen," Spyro said urgently, looking up at the morning sky. "We can't waste any time. We have to find the dragon with no record; he can help us."

"The dragon with no record?" Sparx repeated dubiously. "Have you been visiting the Chronicler lately?"

"No," Spyro denied. "I mean, this time, I think that I was the Chronicler. I was having nightmares−"

"Is that why you were kicking around again?"

"−when my dream switched over to the Celestial Cave at the White Isle. I mean, my… his voice sounded different, but he went to the watching pool and… I think I saw the future."

Volteer seemed put off. "The future? Watching pools are only capable of depicting the present, though. Are you assuredly affirmatively consummately positive that this prophetic vision mightn't have been a capricious fleeting moment of imagination?"

Spyro shook his head, frustrated. "I know the difference between imagination and reality; I've gone between the two so many times. There's something following us, so we can't lose any time."

"I propose that we find out where we are, first!" Sparx announced.

Nobody argued with Sparx for once, so all three climbed the slope, though not without a few slips and falls from the sliding sands.

When Spyro caught a glimpse of the world around him, his jaw gaped momentarily. The night had masked the breadth of the plains before, preventing him from seeing as far, but what he could make out now blew his mind.

The ocean around him extended at the same distance from all sides; Spyro could have been at the center of the world for all that he knew. There was the evergreen forest to the north, still no closer, and the Mountain of Malefor to the south, about as far as the forest.

The two dragons were standing on the edge of a series of sand deep sand ridges which continued parallel to the forest from the mountains of the west to the plains of the east. Each ridge was about forty feet in width and twenty feet in height, and there were approximately twenty to thirty of the ridges in total, all between the dragons and the forests of the north. All in all, the ridges appeared like waves of sand, each with a high crest and a low trough.

"The center of the katabatic force field!" Volteer commented, delighted. "The center of the desert and the centripetal counter!"

Sparx shielded his eyes from the sun with his hands and gaped at the ridges. "Houston, we have a problem."

The sun rose in the east, replenishing the heat to the crystals of sand in the desert. Spyro looked backwards, then at Volteer, then back in the distance, horrified. They'd left a trail! Instead of covering their tracks with more sand, the wind had scattered the two tracks of dragon-prints so that they were even more visible.

"Volteer, we have to go, now!" Spyro demanded. "We left a trail, and it's going to follow us!"

"What's going to follow us?" asked Sparx nonchalantly. "We're in the middle of the desert. We'd see it from miles away. Besides, can't you go all kung-foo dragon-pao on it?"

"You don't understand, Sparx! I saw this in my dream, through the Chronicler's pool! The thing that's tracking us isn't normal."

Volteer shifted his yellow head. "I agree with Spyro," he said. "The times necessitate for a greater velocity, and vulnerability would be a considerable dilemma given the circumstances."

"I didn't understand a word that you said, and I still think that you're all crazy," Sparx huffed. "But I know one thing. I'm not staying behind to be eaten by the heebie jeebie monsters."

"That would be gila monster," Volteer corrected.

Scaling the first ridge was hard enough without being able to fly. The winds still blew through the valley, scattering sand and preventing flight, which meant that neither Volteer nor Spyro could have been able to fly over the area even given Spyro's crippled state.

Several times, Spyro hit a sand-slide and fell from the crest of the zig-zagging formation to the trough. The "sand-slides" were, of course, helpful on the way down a ridge, but a considerable pain while climbing up. Periodically, Spyro looked over his shoulder to check for any signs of his dream-attacker.

The sand ridges were surprisingly full of life, with creatures other than just gila monsters. Sometimes, the group would stumble upon a fairy ring of suspicious looking cacti, not stereotypical saguaros, but small, triangular wedged cacti topped with a spiky red ball. Volteer called them moon cacti, but he said that it was unusual to find them in such circles. As parched as they were, the dragons broke a couple of them up for water, and Spyro thought that the whitish meat inside actually tasted quite good.

Sometimes, Spyro would trip over a giant hairy scorpion or crab spider with a yelp, but the arachnids were actually quite docile. One of the most amazing spectacles that he saw was the sidewinder. The aggressive-looking serpent slithered across the ridges sideways, curling into an undulating S. An unfortunate gecko that happened to be climbing the peak slammed headfirst into the snake, receiving the full impact of the snake's fangs as it snapped.

Halfway through the ridges, Volteer spotted a herd of long-horned animals and became so invigorated that he surfed on a sand-slide and slammed into the trough of the ridge headfirst at full speed, showering himself in sand.

"Pronghorns, b-bachelor pronghorns!" he bumbled through a mouthful of sand. "Pronghorns are types of herbivorous Sonoran antelope that form sex herds! Bachelors create their own group while the females−"

"We don't have time for this!" Spyro was the one to interrupt this time, surprising both Volteer and Sparx. "This thing that's following us wants to kill us, and since we have no way of flying, we can't waste time on ecology!"

Volteer stayed silent after that encounter, and Spyro felt slightly awkward for having snapped. He shook his regret off, though. Now was not the time. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure that the coast was still clear.

Eventually, they reached the top the penultimate ridge and readied themselves to slide down the last of the "eco-ridges." Spyro looked back at the other side fearfully. Not seeing anything, he readied himself to follow after Volteer, who had already begun to take on the last stretch, but something caught the corner of his eye and turned around.

"Guys, wait," he called to Volteer and Sparx. "Stay down, just keep your head above the top of this ridge."

"What is it?" Sparx asked.

Spyro didn't answer. Instead, he squinted towards Malefor's mountain directly ahead of him. A black dot moving far away but at an unimaginable rate of speed. He knew that it was following their trail; he remembered where they had come out of the copse of scraggly inter-zone.

"It's here," he said, almost too calmly. "It's coming to get us."

"How?" Volteer asked, almost too abruptly, but Spyro knew what he meant.

"Now's not the time to ask, we've got to go," Spyro replied urgently.

"I'm sorry, but I don't see ANY way that we can outrun that thing," Sparx pouted, somewhat frustrated that he was wrong.

"What are we going to do, then?" Spyro questioned, worry reflected in his violet eyes.

"I've thought in the recess of the assembling inklings of a modus operandi," Volteer said, suddenly quiet.

"Oh," Sparx said sarcastically. "I'm going to guess that that means 'I have a plan.' I'm also going to guess that I'm getting pretty good here at 'Volteerish' to 'Dragonspeak' translations."

"But Volteer!" Spyro protested for the umpteenth time to the plan. "Are you sure that you want to do this?"

"Spyro, I've explained to you a m-m-multitude of times," Volteer answered. "Terrador sent _you _on this adventurous quest. I would not be fulfilling my role if I didn't do this."

"But how are we going to know what to do?"

"Part of the learning process," said Volteer, "is unconstrained action. I can explain to you the meanings and significances of various aspects and processes for eons, but your part is essential in your training."

"But−"

"Just listen to what thesaurus-brain says!" Sparx cut in. "I don't like it either, but you don't see me complaining!"

"Very well," Spyro finally consented. "If this doesn't work, though, it's the end of us."

The two dragons bent down and peeked from above the ridge, watching the visibly two-legged figure get closer and closer. No green light shined from this figure, but the thing was no creepier for the absence of the light. In the time that the Spyro, Volteer, and Sparx had taken to discuss Volteer's plan, the creature had already almost reached the ridges.

After a few minutes, the figure had finally reached the edge of the ridges. It stopped and looked from side to side, scanning the mountainside. Then, the hooded creature took a giant leap, flying the entire width of a single ridge and cleanly landed on the other side.

"Not good, not good," Sparx whimpered.

Spyro shifted. "Shhh."

He watched as the pursuer scaled another ridge in a single jump, and another, and another, and another. When it was about fifteen or so ridges away, Volteer nodded.

"Be fastidious and conscientious and scrupulous invariably everlastingly," Volteer whispered.

With a single movement, Volteer took off into the air. The wind immediately caught into his wings and forced him to the east. He fought against the tug, though, trying to make himself as visible as possible, his blue breastplates and long, bright horns especially helpful.

Spyro watched as the pursuer stopped as it was preparing to jump again and watched Volteer. Suddenly, Volteer stopped fighting and swished his wings to the side, letting the wind carry him away towards the plains at an immensely fast rate of speed over the ridges. There was no return for Volteer.

Spyro looked back at the creature. For a moment, it looked his way, and Spyro thought that it might continue on. Volteer's plan would be in shambles if it went straight. Time was ticking.

The hooded figure finally took a path. It swiveled on the spot and sprinted for the electricity guardian shrinking in the distance.

"Wait," Spyro said. "He wanted us to wait for exactly fifteen seconds."

"Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, sixty-four, seventy-two, one," whimpered Sparx. "We're, gonna, die, monster, gonna, eat us, I, want my, stuffed b-b-bunny, zero!"

Spyro scrambled for the last ridge, Sparx holding on for dear life, and pulled himself onto the perfectly flat ground on the other side.

"Run," Sparx whispered unnecessarily.

Spyro took off as fast as he could, taking care not to stir up a huge cloud of sand as he ran. Sparx bounced on Spyro's head as he clung to the horn in his usual spot.

"Our guy's still falling for it Spyro," Sparx reported. "He hasn't seen us yet. If we're lucky, Volteer can buy us more time than we lost making that blasted plan."

Spyro puffed, releasing a small ball of smoke. He could keep this up, yes, it wouldn't be too bad. Then, he remembered how long it had taken to walk Malefor's mountain to the ridges and how Volteer said that the next stretch would be the same distance.

"Ahh, if only you could lose some weight, purple one. Then, it wouldn't be able to see us at all. , Just like me!"

Spyro stole a glance back at the ridges as quickly as he could, seeing that they were somewhat farther away but not far enough.

"Don't look back, buddy," commented Sparx. "Be a good racehorse. Mommy wants to see us again!"

He was getting quite hot under the growing heat of the sun. His eyes began to dry, and his heart pumped.

"Just think of all the folks back at home! Mom, Dad, Aunt Polly, Uncle Taft that old fart, all those dragonfly girls back at school, even the fat kid I stole candy from!"

Was it following him now? He didn't want to look back and slow down and instead looked straight down at his paws as they pounded through the sand.

"Oh, and you can't forget the love of your life, can you? Cynder wouldn't want you to die here. So keep going. Giddy up!"

Sparx was right. He would do this for Cynder, for Nina, for Flash, for the guardians, and most of all, for Ignitus.

"Oh no, faster, faster," Sparx yelled.

"I−, don't−, need−, your−, help," wheezed Spyro, slowing down slightly.

"No, I mean, go!" Sparx spluttered. "It's onto us!"

"Oh no…"

Spyro glanced back and saw the creature hopping over the last ridge, faster than ever.

"Look, look!" Sparx yelled again. "We're like half a mile away."

He looked up for the first time in a while. The pines ahead were clearly getting taller. They were so close that Spyro could taste them. He felt the ground getting coarser under his feet.

"He's gaining on us! He's gaining on us!"

The forest was about to envelope them, a mouth of trees opening to swallow them whole and provide them with sweet sanctuary.

"He's going to catch us," squealed the dragonfly, still grasping Spyro's horn as hard as he could.

Spyro looked back again. The two-legged hooded animal was so close that it could have grabbed his tail.

_Vwoosh!_

They broke through the foliage of the forest and skirted past several closely gauged tree-trunks. The forest became so dense so quickly that they were surrounded in bushes before they knew it.

"Hide," Sparx whispered. "No time to lose."

Spyro scanned quickly from side to side. There was no obvious place. Then, he noticed the hollow redwood tree deeper into the forest. He crept slowly to the opening and slipped in. The fit was tight, but the redwood sank several inches below the soil, so the spot was well concealed. A bush covered the entrance.

A harsh breathing came closer and closer to the tree, causing Sparx to shiver beside Spyro's head. He could see a pair of robust stone-gray ears sticking out from above the bush. A beetle climbed over Spyro's face, causing him to shift uncomfortably.

The figure began to sniff loudly, leaning nearer and nearer to the hollow tree. Spyro held in his breath.

Suddenly, a wild whistle rent the clearing, raising in pitch until Spyro couldn't hear it anymore. The beast let out a snarl of pain and ran in the opposite direction, whining. Spyro slumped backward, narrowing his eyes in exhaustion. _Maybe a bit of sleep won't hurt…_

"Spyro, Spyro, Spyro, Spyro, Spyro, Spyro, Spyro, Spyro, Spyro, ack…" somebody coughed hoarsely. "Spyro, Spyro, Spyro, Spyro..."

Seeming amused, Sparx was alternating in opening Spyro's eyelids and saying his name each time.

"What time is it?" Spyro grumbled.

Sparx jumped. "Oh, finally! I thought that you'd died. You've been asleep for hours. I hope you don't mind that I've been drawing on your face with mushrooms. It's quite fun. And there are lots of mushrooms around here. I like this place! Lots of surprisingly delicious butterflies… I hope they're not poisonous. Oh, and lots of mushrooms. Did I mention that you have a mustache now?"

"Sparx…" Spyro said slowly. "How many times has your mother told you to think before you eat something?"

"I don't know!" he giggled, whirring in circles. "But I love this place! I like butterflies, though, too. And pretty forests. And secret hideouts from bad guys who want to kill us and eat our meat! And mushrooms. And ferns. And teddy bears. And drawing!"

Spyro rolled his eyes and stepped outside while Sparx zipped around. The forest glistened around him, a type of forest that he'd never seen before. All of the ground-foliage was waxy and full of water. Moss and red berries in almost every open space possible, and a blue light filed down from the canopy, casting an enchanted light through the meadow.

Life had settled in this evergreen forest and had refused to leave despite the desert heat to the south. A cool, refreshing breeze permeated the entire forest, not too cold but just right.

Moss thrived as if there was no competition. Every rock, every crevice, every patch of soil, every tree trunk was submerged in a sea of green and lichen. No crisp leaves littered the ground, and each of Spyro's steps was muffled by the moss on the ground. _These trees must never lose their leaves, _Spyro thought.

Spyro sat down and tried to listen intently.

"Hey, Spyro, hey, where're we going, what're we doing, where ya' think Volteer is, why're we even here?"

"Shush," Spyro chided. "I'm listening for the sound of the waterfall."

"What waterfall?" Sparx dropped the red mushroom that he was holding.

"The waterfall in my dream…"

He flicked his tail impatiently. He could just hear it, just out of his range.

"Hey, Spyro, hey, what do you think that that sound was, just before you passed out again, like you've done, I don't know, for the fifteenth kazillionth bazillionth zillionth trillionth billionth millionth thousandth and first time."

Spyro sighed, utterly exasperated. "Sparx, that's enough! Find something to clamp to your mouth if nothing else!"

There was the sound again. Spyro took off at a brisk trot, leaving Sparx, who was trying desperately in vain to wrap a strand of green fern around his head.

The trees gradually opened until Spyro finally emerged from the green copse. _Finally_, he thought to himself as he looked around.

A healthy waterfall poured from the rock in front of him, donating to the vast pool of water that lapped to his feet. At the edges of the clearing were signs of inhabitation. The sides of the pool were tilled and cleared, and a variety of plants grew on wooden stilts. He could make out various red fruits, and a barrage of vegetables.

A clean path of stones was driven around the edges of the pool. Wooden contraptions hung on either side of the waterfall where the path ended. Spyro guessed that they must serve as some sort of elevator. At the top of the waterfall was a lengthy dock as well as a rotating mill, where he assumed that the cabin must lie.

Spyro walked along the path, taking care not to damage any of the plants. He climbed onto the wooden elevator and looked for some way to operate the contraption. As he stepped backwards, a wooden switch clicked, and the elevator on the opposite side of the waterfall began to lower as his side rose.

The wooden planks at the top stuck over the entire waterfall and wrapped around the center of the waterfall. At the fall point, two water wheels spun slowly, vibrating a metal cable that tugged at the elevators. What was more interesting, however, was the scene behind the water wheel.

A quaint and neatly placed white stucco cabin rested over the river on the dock. An open porch with two rocking chairs seemed welcoming, but there was no orange dragon in wait for them. The windows had a boxy, red-brick style, bordered with natural ivy, and the rustic shingles topped the house off.

Spyro walked slowly as if drawn to the cabin. The dreamy blue light that shone on the house elicited an almost magical aura of convivial feeling. He took the steps to the porch, enchanted at the simple, two-story house.

"Hello," he called. "Is anybody home?"

"I'm still here!" Sparx shouted from behind him.

"I wasn't talking to you."

Almost feeling obliged, Spyro took the wooden door and pushed. The door swung open, revealing a small foyer.

Sparx observed Spyro critically. "Are you breaking and entering?"

He ignored the dragonfly and entered the house. The wooden furniture and tan-painted walls inside were almost too neatly placed to be true. Spyro continued, somewhat gliding in a trance, down the hallway into the main room. At this point, he didn't know what to think.

He narrowed his eyes as he looked around. This room was much messier and much more… confusing. Wooden tables lined the walls, interspersed with various bookshelves built into the sides. Books lay on the rugs matted throughout the floor tiles, huge books and flimsy journals.

There wasn't a spot without glassware. Each table had at least one graduated cylinder filled with a colorful, bubbling liquid. Some of the tables were more burdened, with multiple cylinders with tubes sticking from them. These tubes funneled from the glass cylinders into other corked flasks and spiraled bottles. Sometimes, bubbles would flow through the clear tube, and liquid would displace from one container to another.

Plants scattered the floor, some with hairy leaves, others with berries, yet others that didn't even look like plants. In the corner of the room, a large plant that looked like a venus flytrap waited suspiciously. At the other corner of the room, a table that looked like some sort of plant docking station was covered by a massive book.

"Super-Protein Endokinase Complex Producers," Sparx read from the book. "Sounds like something that Volteer would have said."

"Hey, who's in here?"

_Oh no, we've done it again. _Spyro listened as footsteps echoed from the staircases on either side of the room.

"Gah, I'm out of here," Sparx yelped as a huge beast leapt from the stairs and began to growl threateningly at Spyro. The cat-like creature only had a single eye; the other one was blue and shriveled.

"Sirah, that's enough!" the voice called from the stairs. The cat-beast grumbled again untrustingly but sat back.

The orange dragon rounded the corner and jumped from the stairs. His forest-green eyes, slightly bloodshot, glinted unnaturally, clashing with the electric-blue frills on his head. His thin and elegant horns curved all the way to the back of his head. Long, blue wings extended from behind him. He had thin upper frame and a larger, bony waist. He observed the Spyro briefly, long tail flicking from side to side, before cracking into an absurd smile.

"Sorry, I was working on a project upstairs and I didn't notice that you'd stopped by. Spyro, is it? Well, I'm Avimus, by the way," the dragon with no record drawled in a dreamy, somewhat slurred voice. "Avimus Celsec."


	9. Clash of Black and Green

The sudden chirping of a songbird woke Cynder from her slumber. She blinked, stifling a yawn, before slowly rising to her feet.

The village was already bustling with activity, the cheetahs resuming their daily life of hunting and crafting. The sun had already moved midway through the sky, and Sabina was nowhere to be seen. _I must have overslept_, she thought. _I'd better get a move-on_.

Cynder leapt from the barracks, stretching her bright violet wings out in front of her. Several of the passing cheetahs made funny expressions at her, but she ignored them. Eyeing the two huts by the fireplace, Cynder trotted to the village center. Drake sat by the fire, staring into the sky idly.

"Hello?" somebody called from the side, causing her to skirt to a halt and look around wildly.

One of the most wizened, wrinkled, and debilitated figures that Cynder had ever seen stood beside one of the customary open Avalar huts, leaning against the pole for support. The probably once-pretty old crone wore a traditional brown tunic complementary to her crème fur color. A purple flower peaked innocently from one of cheetah's ears.

"Hello?" the crone repeated again. "Are you the dragon that saved our village?"

Cynder felt her cheeks grow hot. "Yes, yes I am," she replied uncertainly. "But I didn't do it alone."

"Of course not, of course not," she whispered slowly, her voice cracking. Two tannish rocks dangled from either of her ears, and she wore several charms around her neck. "I sense that you have somewhere to go, that you do not wish to speak with me, but I still want to say something to you."

Inquisitively, Cynder stepped closer to her. Smelling something pungent on the old cheetah, she sniffed, but covered her disgust so as not to seem rude.

"You don't have to be polite," the crone chuckled, gagging at one point. "Not everybody appreciates the power of wild radish."

"Now, I'd rather not keep you from going about your business," she continued without letting Cynder speak. "However, I want you to do me a favor."

Without waiting for a response, the elder snatched a string dangling from a post behind her. She scrutinized over it for a moment, then, muttering, threw the string back onto the barrack. Instead, the old crone reached for one of the charms on her neck and removed it.

"Wear this," she commanded, a twinkle in her golden eyes. "Put it on."

"Okay…" Cynder stuttered, moving closer so that the crone could place the necklace over her head. A cloud of bitter smell enveloped Cynder, causing her to hack.

"There, there, it's not that bad, and the smell won't linger," the old cheetah assured her. "Keep this necklace and don't lose it. I want you to give it to Hunter, because I know that you know him."

"But I don't know where−"

"There's a catch, though," the crone interrupted, swaying slightly. "Don't give it to Hunter until you know that the time is right. That's all that I ask of you."

She looked into the cheetah's eyes, confused, but the elder shooed her away. Shrugging, she turned around to leave.

"Wait," Cynder said, turning around as she thought of something. "Pardon me, but what is your name?"

The cheetah raised her head, shaking. "That's not important. You'll find out anyway, so I don't feel inclined to tell you."

Utterly perplexed, Cynder studied the charm as the old cheetah hobbled away in the direction of the western side of the camp. On the string hung a miniature conch shell, a spiral snail shell, several scallop casings, a starfish, and several other items that might be found on a sandy beach. She curled her lip at the overpowering stink that still lingered on the string and then shrugged her shoulders.

Cynder noticed that Drake was still watching her from the fireside, so she sidled around the two central huts and stepped towards the fireplace. The heat sapped into her body, clearing away the morning dizziness that had enveloped her.

"I see that somebody overslept," Drake observed, uncrossing his legs. "I would have woken you, but I didn't want sleeping beauty to lose any of her precious slumber."

"Well I don't see you doing anything productive either," Cynder replied. "Have you seen Sabina anywhere?"

Drake shook his head and stood to his feet. "I've been waiting here for the both of you. It's high time that we set you off for the mountains."

"Great, I guess I'll just have to go and look for Sabina," Cynder sighed. "I would take off without her, but I don't think that Terrador would be too happy about it."

"It looks like she's taking off without you, though… and pretty fast by the looks of it."

Cynder looked around wildly. "Wha−"

Drake pointed towards the woods. In the distance was the unmistakable form of the green dragoness clad in bronze armor disappearing at a sprinting speed through the neck of the woods at the easternmost end of the village.

Drake looked at Cynder critically. "What is it between you two?"

Fury crept through Cynder's scales. "Look, I didn't ask for this. I never would have thought…" She paused. "That's it, I'm going to give her a piece of my mind!"

Drake stumbled as Cynder took off running in the direction of the forest. "Well at least wait for me!"

The village turned into a blur as Cynder used her full speed to rush between the barracks and wooden fences. Drake followed behind her clumsily as she broke the line of trees and tore up the leaves in her haste.

Although the dense underbrush and narrowly spaced trunks proved difficult to see through, a full-sized dragon would have been nearly impossible to miss. Cynder screeched to a stop, skidding on a pile of moist leaves, causing Sabina to stop and stare wide-eyed.

"Sabina! You traitor!" she shouted furiously.

Sabina whipped around and opened her mouth slowly, then closed it.

"You'd better have a really good explanation for deserting!" Cynder growled. "I'm going to need something really convincing if I'm to believe that you aren't an ape-hearted coward."

The earth dragoness continued to stare at Cynder, almost confusedly. Drake had caught up by this time and was wheezing against a tree-trunk.

"That's right, you don't have anything to say," Cynder ranted. "You just want to be an arrogant pain in the rear end. I'm sure that you think that I'm just an 'inexperienced youngling' by your standards, but now just look at the irony of it all!"

"W-what do you mean?" Sabina panted, a hurt appearance in her eyes. "Terrador told me to go to the mountains, so I am only following his orders."

"But why in the world would you leave me?"

Sabina backed away like a cornered animal. "You aren't… you didn't…" She turned instead to Drake. "Why do you have a stranger walking around with you anyway? Maybe you're really plotting against me!"

"How absurd!"

"I don't think I even know you!"

"I think I want to forget you!"

Sabina reeled back and extended her bronze-enforced claws, letting out an enormous bellow of rage. Before Cynder could react, Sabina swung at her head and made contact. Cynder fell to her side from the force of the impact and landed with a thud against Drake, knocking the wind out of him.

Recovering, Cynder released a sizable roar before leaping at the huge dragoness. They locked into a tussle, rolling around on the ground in a wild frenzy. Drake had gotten to his feet and had started to yell for them to stop.

Sabina bound Cynder around the neck with her tail and slung her at the tree. Slumping down, Cynder opened her mouth in terror as Sabina brought down a rock wall of green energy from the surrounding environment, imprisoning her against the trunk of the tree. She squirmed to get out, but couldn't move.

"Never insult me like that again!" Sabina snarled.

Suddenly, Cynder disappeared through the ground in a cloud of black fog. The cloud moved through the rock and around Sabina, binding her with a rope of beetle-black fibers. She hung suspended in the air for several moments as the blackness engulfed her, then slammed down to the ground as Cynder burst back through the ground.

"I'll insult you as much as I like, traitor," Cynder whispered coolly, watching Sabina try to squirm out of the dark ropes. "And don't think that you could ever beat me in a fight, words or claws. Your mind's just not capable of holding anything, green worm."

"You're a monster," Sabina whimpered, a single tear rolling from her deep green eyes. She gagged as the ropes constricted and tore at her scales.

"Cynder! Stop it! You're killing her!"

The brawny, furry body of Drake collided with her side, sending her sliding off of Sabina. The ropes dissolved into the air in a wispy fog, and Sabina immediately inhaled, drawing in a long breath of clean air and coughing out the old. Clambering to her paws, Cynder looked down in horror.

"I swear on my mother that I've never seen anything of the like in my life," Drake gasped, hoisting himself up. "What in all the world were you thinking?"

Cynder shivered as if a ghost had run through her body. "I don't know what came over me. I just−"

Drake held up a hand, pointing at Sabina, who was huddled against the tree with a dull, defeated pall on her face. "The time for explanations isn't now. I think that this one is about to hyperventilate."

"Come on, stop whining, nothing's broken," Lark mumbled through the wad of cloth in her mouth as she wiped salve onto Cynder's wound.

"That stuff stings though!" Cynder complained.

After the unexpected brawl, Drake and Cynder had helped Sabina back to the village, where a mass of curious villagers had gathered around. Luckily for them, Lark returned from the forest and maintained order around the village center. Cynder lay against one of the sitting logs that wrapped around the fireplace, while Sabina rested in the grass near the hickory-smelling flame.

The pale-furred cheetah removed the cloth from her mouth and wrapped it around Cynder's sprained wrist. "You should have thought of that before you started fighting," Lark pointed out. "You at least could have chosen to try to kill each other when there was a trained healer around, but now my experience will have to do."

Lark patted her hands to wipe the herb residue off and turned to Sabina, who had a sticky comb attached to her snout. "And you're going to need some more honey for the throat, O patient of mine."

"Man, she really gets into this," Drake snickered by the fire.

Lark glared at him. "Shut up."

Even though the cheetahs were trying to be lighthearted, Cynder could tell that they were still shooting wary glances at her, glances that never quite met her eyes. She tried to muster a smile but couldn't. Why had she done what she'd done? There wasn't any serious harm− serious physical harm− that had been inflicted, but if Drake hadn't been there…

"I don't know how you two expect to travel together if you're going to be trying to gouge each other's eyes out the entire time," Lark continued. "And why do you smell like wild radish, Cynder?"

Cynder's cheeks grew hot. "Uhh… that would be the−"

"You've met Candace, haven't you?" Drake asked, not looking directly at anybody but messing around with a branch by placing it into the fire and watching it burn.

"Is she the elderly one?"

Drake chuckled, poking the charcoals with the branch. "Ya' don't have to be shy about calling her names. She's a right ol' hag."

"What did I tell you about calling her names, Drake?" Lark chastised as she held a small clay basin to Sabina's lips and tipped it, letting the gooey amber liquid run into Sabina's mouth. "You're the only one, the only one in the entire valley, that has anything wrong with that sweet old cheetah."

"But doncha remember that time when we were just cubs and she pegged me with that rotten apple from behind! Then she gave me a look that could've turned milk sour like it was all my fault! I mean, enough−"

"I assume that she's the one that gave you those charms?" Lark asked Cynder, interrupting Drake, who scowled at Lark before resuming with the branch. Sabina swallowed the honey and looked down at the ground, expressionless, as Lark picked up the basin and carried it to one of the central huts beside the fire.

Cynder eyed the various shells hanging down from her neck. "Yes, she did. Do you know anything about these?"

"I know that she has an obsession with those useless sea-things," said Drake, rolling his eyes.

"She told me to give them to Hunter," Cynder added.

"Hunter…" Lark repeated. "That's funny, because Candace is Hunter's grandmother."

Drake sneered. "More like great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother. At her age, I'm not surprised that she's forgotten that he's run off and abandoned us."

"Well, it makes perfect sense that she'd want to give Hunter a gift," Cynder thought aloud. "I just wonder if we're ever going to see him again so that I can give it to him…"

Losing amusement in mutilating the burning tree branch, Drake threw the stick into the fire and crossed his arms with a surly expression.

"I've been thinking," Cynder picked up again, daunted by the fact that neither of the two cheetahs could look her in the face. "We should probably leave as soon as possible. I think that we've− I mean I've− worn out our welcome here. We can keep a lookout for Meadow, too."

"I would object," said Lark, "but under the circumstances, you're perfectly right. I think that the time has come."

That gave Cynder a flick of reassurance. Lark wouldn't have said something like that if she hadn't understood Cynder's feelings.

The pale-furred cheetah narrowed her bright, translucent eyes. "I still think that you need a little bit of time to recover… from both of your _wounds_…" She gave an emphasis to the last word and furrowed her eyebrows as if trying to hint something. "We'll be attending to some bodyguard business, so as soon as you're _both_ ready to head off, we can show you the way."

With that, she clenched a protesting Drake by the arm and pulled him with her towards the eastern side of the village, where the chief's hut was. Cynder avoided looking at Sabina, instead watching the flames of the bonfire leap through the dewy morning air, driving away the biting chill of the night. She wished that the cheetahs hadn't left, because that same feeling of lonely awkwardness that she had felt on the trip to the Valley of Avalar was creeping in again.

The camp was slowly gaining in life and movement as the sun rose through the sky, and various hunting parties and scouting regiments entered and left through the neatly-placed wooden stockades. Cynder sighed, fixing her eyes on one particular dark-furred cheetah that was carrying a bundle of crafting wood to the hut at the far end of the village, most likely preparing to make arrows, bows, or weapon holsters. _Will my life ever be that easy? _Cynder wondered as she watched him.

She shifted against the rough sitting log and looked at Sabina, who was posed like a giant green sphinx without the characteristic pride. Her round head rested on the ground directly in front of her, bronze-enforced horns towards the sky and eyes pointed at the ground sadly.

Eventually, Cynder tried to open her mouth to say something to Sabina, but her mind held her back. Every time, the words were on the tip of her tongue, but her jaw refused to cooperate and clenched shut as if glued with plaster. The thoughts in her head were simply too much to handle. Why had Candace given her the stupid charm? Why had Sabina attacked so quickly and been provoked so suddenly? Why had Sabina tried to leave her in the first place when there was nothing to gain?

Or what if there was something to gain from leaving her? What if she, Cynder, was truly the one in the wrong?

Her eyes widened and her nostrils dilated as the overwhelming thoughts circulated through her mind. _I really am a monster_…

"And this is where we part," said Drake, standing proudly at the edge of the forest glen, clasping his shining broadsword loosely in the palm of his paw. "Don't suppose that you have any last words?"

Cynder peered ahead through the clear dirt trail that marked the path to the mountains. The woods here were not nearly as dense as the woods by the Mountain of Malefor, where the leeway between trees narrowed to be nearly impassable. The grass at either side of the path grew lusciously in the fertile soil.

Lark smiled and crossed her arms, wrapping her furry tail around one of her legs. "Don't make it sound like this is the last time that we'll be seeing one another again!"

"Thanks for the help," Cynder said quietly. "I'm sorry for everything."

If only she could say that to Sabina. She glanced at the earth dragoness, who met her eyes for the first time since Drake and Lark had shown them through the western exit of the village. To her surprise, the expression wasn't angry, morose, or even frightened but… normal.

Sabina nodded at Lark. "You have been very gracious, but it is time that we went our own way," she stated in her usual foreign-sounding tone.

Cynder raised her eyebrows, unsettled. That was the old Sabina, but she hadn't seen that Sabina since they had landed in the Valley. She shrugged her shoulders.

"I guess that we'll meet again sometime soon," Drake announced with a wink. "When you return, we should hold a celebratory feast and then make that day an official holiday and then−"

Lark held up her paw. "That's quite enough," she groaned before turning to Cynder and Sabina. "If you ever need help again, please don't hesitate to stop by."

After a couple more farewell exchanges, the two cheetahs began to make their way back to the village. Cynder stood still, watching them as they turned past a grove of trees and disappeared out of sight.

Sabina had already started walking ahead. "Come on, Cynder," she called. "You know that I always say that you younglings never have any stamina!"

_She's either incredible forgiving_, Cynder thought to herself as she broke into a run to catch up, _or has no emotions whatsoever_.

The pair trotted along the trail at a steady pace. Drake and Lark had both said that this path would lead directly to mountains where Sabina's people lived. What they hadn't said was what they would find there.

As they made their way through the woods, Cynder couldn't help but notice the variety of life-forms that inhabited the forest. She hadn't seen anything of the like. Bulbous, white-smeared mushrooms of red, orange, and yellow colors had waxed through the groves, while wild dandelions, cornflowers, and poppy decorated the abundant crabgrass. Sabina seemed especially interested at the tall snapdragons that grew along the tree trunks, but she never slowed the pace down, seeming intent on reaching their destination.

Occasionally, an unseen finch or sparrow gave a long squawk and then a series of chirps that were answered in like by another bird or two on the opposite side of the dragonesses. Gray tree-frogs croaked mournfully like widowers and widows, at least until Cynder passed near them. Squirrels with red-tipped ears dominated the forest, overpowering the ambient din by causing a ruckus in the leaves. Every time Cynder heard a shuffling in the trees at the far end of the path, she swiveled around, expecting to encounter Lark or Drake again, only to see one of the mischievous rodents chattering at her as if in amusement.

Sabina never said a word nor indicated that she had the slightest interest in doing so… not that her behavior was any different than before the incident. Unlike Cynder, her eyes did not wander to the sides of the path but set straight ahead, disregarding the peripheral scenery to the goal in focus.

The ever-prominent shadows cast by the thick foliage of the treetops lent Cynder a sense of underlying protection. The groves of plant life emanated with a charming appeal, one that promised forgiveness and nurture like the whims of any mother.

Yet something else lingered in the air, something not quite malicious, but not quite friendly either. Not noticing the gleaming opaque eyes watching her, Cynder quickened her pace to catch up with Sabina.

The trail of paw prints, with the occasional object of evidence such as splotched blue fur or teak fabric, was becoming more difficult to follow, as if the target had become excited and begun to increase in speed. The widening out of the forest ground was not helping Lotus's case either, since there was less torn-up undergrowth from Lennox's tracks.

Lotus's eyelids twitched uncontrollably from the lack of sleep, and her footsteps were shaky and poorly placed. On the other hand, Hunter seemed perfectly alert and moved through the underbrush with his customary agility, humble cloak swishing in the breeze.

The tracks eventually ended in an abrupt ledge, which Lotus was forced to shift down, followed by an enormous fallen tree that lay in her path. She groaned as she clasped the rough bark with her pads and hoisted herself over the log. Something on her waist caught on the side of a branch, and she stumbled clumsily to the side of the log before falling over the other end, landing with a _thud_ on the ground.

"That smarts," Lotus said to Hunter, who was climbing after her while she pulled herself to her feet. She felt her waist for the culprit, and her hand slid over the smooth handle of Gaea. Out of some impulse, she gripped the handle of the falchion and pulled the sword out of the sheath. The clear note of the metal grinding against metal rang out with a not disagreeable noise that Lotus fancied matched with the harmony of the forest.

Hunter looked on questioningly. "What did you do that for?"

She sniffed. "Do what for?" she asked. "Fall?"

He didn't press her, but instead continued pursuing the trail. Lotus followed, Gaea still in her hand. The blade belonged in the warm pads of her palm, not in the sheath on her side. She would have felt the same way if she was made to stick her head into a firm metal casing.

Lotus shook her head confusedly. _Why am I talking about this sword like it's alive?_ The sword was simply too mysterious. Even though she had tried multiple times to deliver bursts of energy similar to the tornado that had been summoned when she had first picked it up, Gaea still didn't yield any results. Deciding that she was simply exhausted, she stopped thinking about Gaea but kept it within her grasp.

Lotus shoved through a barrier of broad-leaved ferns and opened her mouth in pleasant surprise at what she saw. A smooth, path winded ahead of them through groves of leafy, deciduous trees. She looked from side to side, and seeing nobody but Hunter, stepped out to investigate the area.

"Look, Hunter!" Lotus yelled. "Come and see this!"

"What?" Hunter trotted to the edge of the path and looked at the dirt trail. Embedded in the ground were the prints of creatures with talons or leathery claws, not paw pads.

Lotus knelt down and looked closer. "These look the same as those other prints… the dragon prints."

"And there are two sets," Hunter observed, scratching the back of his head.

"They look pretty fresh to me."

Hunter grinned, standing to full height. "Looks like we're getting closer."

"Are you sure that it's safe to go down this?" Sabina asked Cynder, who was standing impatiently at the point at which the path abruptly dropped into a deep landslide which traveled around the corner of visible turf.

Cynder rolled her eyes. "Why can't we just fly down it?"

"I already told you, my wingspan is far too large to fit."

If Sabina was deciding to be a pain in the tail again, then so be it. Without second thought, Cynder stepped forward onto the steep incline.

"See," she pointed out, acid-green eyes glimmering. "It's not so bad after all."

Cynder took another step and promptly felt the dirt under her claws begin to crumble and slide. She cried out in vain as she slipped and began to tumble head over heels down the slope.

"Cynder!" Sabina called out.

Flashes of green and brown rushed past her eyes as she tumbled around the corner and bounced uncontrollably over the path. She grounded, face-first, on a moss-cushioned pillow of light topsoil. A thump beside her told her that Sabina had done similarly.

Cynder got to her feet and checked for cuts while Sabina did the same. They seemed to be in a sheltered meadow of filtering rays of sun. The light blinded both of them.

"You might have listened to my advice," Sabina scolded, irritated.

Cynder's eyes widened as they grew accustomed to the light, and her mouth opened in awe as she saw the full meadow. This place was not so much different from any of the others except for one small variance. In the very center of the plateau was the largest mushroom that Cynder had ever seen.

The stalk of the fungus widened as much as an ancient oak, and the bright red and white-splotched spherical cap filled out for meters upon meters. Gills were visible beneath the cap, little flaps that almost appeared to be moving of their own accord.

She walked closer to the gargantuan mushroom, feeling the shade cast by the canopies of trees that enabled the mushroom to grow in this environment.

"I wouldn't get too close to that," Sabina recommended. "It might be poisonous."

"Perfect nonsense," Cynder replied. "I'm venomous myself. Nobody can poison me."

She moved closer to the stalk and passed under the cap. Upon closer inspection, the gills were moving, unmistakably so. She reached out a claw, moving in to touch the white, fibrous stalk out of impulse.

Before she could reach the stalk, a dark figure stepped from behind the fungus, dagger in hand.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a male voice said menacingly. "You might disrupt something valuable."

Cynder gasped. It was a cheetah, a blue-gray cheetah with light blue eyes and a torn teak robe. A horrid gash ran through his chest past his shoulder, but even in his current state, he could still hold himself up.

"Now," he continued, baring his shark-like set of dentures and brandishing his dagger as reinforcement, "show me where the purple dragon is, lest you make me angrier than I already am."


	10. Quite Long Ago

"Tongue-tied? You don't have to be shy," said the orange dragon, Avimus, peering around with his dark, hazel-tinged green eyes and fixing on Sparx, who was still hovering over the journal by the venus flytrap-like plant. "I won't bite."

Spyro eyed the mottled one-eyed cat-beast that was still curling its lip at him. "How… How do you know my name?" he asked lamely, too absorbed in his surroundings to think properly.

One of the glass containers on the cluttered wooden table under a gabled window began to squeal as the contents turned from crystal clear to deep azure to green to an unsettling color of maroon. The cat-beast furled back its ears and slunk off to stairway while Avimus, starting slowly, clapped a circular watch glass over the cylinder as the colorful liquid boiled.

"Word gets around," he replied slowly, turning back to Spyro. "I'd imagine, especially after three years of your being in a crystallized mass."

Avimus narrowed his eyes as if seeing Spyro clearly for the first time. "You look like a mess," he commented.

"Err…" Spyro mumbled self-consciously, not sure what to say.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! You see, I'm not used to having guests around the house. Hold on a minute."

The strange dragon, about the size of Cynder, as Spyro noted, but with much broader hips, pushed the capped cylinder with sanguine liquid toward the edge of the table, moved a tattered, stained notebook from under a flask, and clutched a feather between his claws to jot something down. He then swiveled around clumsily, and in the process, his tail clipped the container seated on the edge, sending it flying through the air. With a crash of breaking glass, the contents burst out from the container and splashed the oak boards of the floor. Black sear-marks appeared where the evil-looking chemical had spilled.

"What in the world is that stuff?" Sparx shouted, flying closer to the ceiling.

"There's another trial ruined…" Avimus shook his head, fazed by the burnt floor and shattered glass. "It was a mixture of fungal extracts containing oxidizing ions… I'll just have to clean this up later."

"So," he continued, slurring in his dreamy voice, "I never imagined that I would meet you so soon nor… that it would be anything like this…"

Silence reigned for a moment before Avimus shook his head and blinked. "Please, don't keep standing by the doorway," he implored. "Come on in; my house is your house."

Hesitating at first but yielding to polite expectations, Spyro limped unsurely, his limbs seizing up from the stress of the past few hours. Although the lame wing hanging at his side received a strange look from Avimus, the eccentric little dragon said nothing. Avimus's contemplative expression gave Spyro the impression that he was being evaluated by Avimus, as if he were a specimen under observation.

Spyro peered into Avimus's deep green eyes, mesmerized . "Not to s-seem rude, but who are you?"

"That's a deep question." Avimus sat down and fastidiously wrapped his tail around his paws. "I don't know who I am myself… but if you want to know who I think I am, there's a different answer."

"I call myself, as I mentioned before, Avimus Celsec. Though I have many other names, sobriquets, whatever you want to call them, I go by Avimus. I've lived here by myself for three years, investigating this forest and the resident chain of organisms."

Already, Spyro noticed several other odd qualities about this dragon. His head shook subtly while he talked, his eyes seeming not to be looking at Spyro but through him, as one who is truly tired might gaze at others, seeing but not focusing; on a different note, Avimus seemed unable to keep his paws still. While he talked, he fiddled with his claws, scratching at the floorboards and whipping his tail around like an excited puppy.

"I don't really want to ramble on, though," drawled Avimus. "You have your own story to tell. I'm sure you didn't come all the way from Warfang just to lay eyes on me."

For a moment, Spyro didn't know what to say, the eccentricities about the entire place weighing in on his mind like water pressure. "I didn't co-come from Warfang."

"What do you mean, you didn't come from Warfang?" asked Avimus, tilting his head.

"No… I mean…" The words wouldn't leave his mouth but lingered on the edge of his tongue.

"Auditory verbal aphasia, or apraxia of speech…" Avimus said matter-of-factly, as if commenting on the weather. "Indicative of concussion or physiological motor impairment."

"Huh!" cried Sparx, descending to the ground.

"Sorry, I get ahead of myself," Avimus apologized, shaking his horned head. "I study stiliology, or the physiology of dragons, in addition to these plant sciences. I meant to say that your trouble with speech might be caused by head impact or possible trauma."

Sparx snorted at the same time as Spyro narrowed his eyes.

The dragonfly peered at Spyro. "And I'd thought we'd never here this sort of talk till we got back to Volteer."

For the first time, Avimus appeared somewhat put-off, his eyes flashing indignantly. "Please don't compare me to the guardians."

"What?" Spyro responded, taken aback by his urgency. _How does he know about the guardians?_

"Enough about me, like I said," the odd little dragon insisted, standing up and closing the leather-bound book on the table. "I can hear about your little adventures later as well. You're obviously not in the state−"

"I'm not injured, I can speak perfectly fine!"

"I wasn't talking about your current disorientation, though that makes a good point. Let me see your right wing."

Spyro hesitated and looked down at the chemical-stained floor. He tried to perk up his lame wing, but the feeling and once-fine coordination in the wing vertebrae had escaped him. The membranous flaps on both sides hung from the bone, and for the first time, he wondered why the atrocious damage was not so painful.

"Come on," Avimus urged, stepping closer. "I may not be an expert on my subject, but I'm working towards it."

The cat-beast, bored of watching the dragons talk, petered in the direction of the stairwell and daintily stalked up the crude wooden stairs, soft pads scraping the fibers in the wood. Riding on the cool breeze, the eerie trill of a black cicada filtered through the open windows.

Reluctantly, Spyro dipped his head and allowed Avimus to inspect the injury. The orange dragon craned his neck over Spyro's back and raised a claw to the right wing. Spyro barely felt the dull file of Avimus's claw where it touched the damaged area.

"Tell me what you feel when I do this," he ordered, lifting the mangled mass of Spyro's wing upward.

"Nothing at all."

He sidled around Spyro to the other wing and began to inspect the left side. Spyro caught Sparx's eye and shrugged helplessly.

Avimus grasped the edge of the other wing with one paw and sat on his hind legs. "I'm going to do the same with your left wing. Tell me what you feel."

His claws enclosed around the raw scales of Spyro's left vertebrae and clenched firmly. Exhaling, Avimus wrenched the wing upward.

_Click! _With a shout, Spyro cowered as a wave of shock ran through his body from the jolt of pain that shot through his back. A throbbing sensation entered the area and pulsed through the wing.

"What did you do that for!" Spyro pouting accusingly, rubbing the tender spot.

Avimus let his abnormally large smile cover his face. "I knew what would happen. To work to be a professional, you have to predict what will happen before it does. You have to be almost certain that your theory is correct before you test it."

"Looked like a dirty trick to me," said Sparx, scratching his chin.

"So what does it mean?" asked Spyro.

"Okay, I'll try to be as objective as possible. The radius of the right wing appears not to be fractured, but the peripheral-radial nerve ending seems to be severed. Had you felt pain in that ending, I could assume otherwise, but unfortunately that's not the case. All three metacarpals of that wing experienced fracture, though only the first metacarpal contains contaminated open fracture with clotted blood. In the right wing, the plagiopatagium and all dactylopatagia have been torn to the osteoblasts. The same goes for the left wing, with all patagia torn except for the dactylopatagium minor."

Sparx's jaw dropped. "You make it sound a whole lot worse than it looks, and I don't even know half of what you just said."

Crossing his eyes, Spyro attempted to look back at the damage again. "What are all of these nerves and pat… patagum things that you're talking about?"

"Patagia are the membranes between the digits," Avimus explained. "They provide the resistance for flight in mammals and in this case, dragons. You could think of them as the webbing between the digits of your third pair of appendages."

Spyro gazed at the tattered membrane and shuddered. "Do they heal?"

"Patagia of bats are remarkable resilient and patch even with moderate damage. Patagia of dragons… Let's just say that I don't have the experience to tell you that. Like I said, the incisions in your wings seem quite deep..."

His eyes wandering to the open journal beside the enormous carnivorous plant, Avimus whipped around and trotted suddenly to the table with a wide gait. His blue, iridescent wings spread out before him like smooth blankets. He stood on his hind legs and began to flip through the pages with his paws, muttering.

The edge of Avimus's wing clipped one of the fibrous teeth of the plant, and the entire pitcher-like head snapped shut with a wrenching noise, narrowly missing the wing. Avimus chuckled. "Oops."

Sitting back and folding his own one wing tenderly to his side, Spyro stared around the room while Avimus scanned the book. The feral beast had lain down at the foot of the stairwell and was eying him through its single yellow iris. A viscous, deep blue liquid gushed though the closed left eyelid where the other eye should have been. The huge cat's ears perked back as he watched, and the nostrils flared warningly.

"Aha!" came the muffled voice of Avimus emerging from the snout buried in the pages. "I found what I was looking for. I might just have a way to fix your wings!"

Raising his eyebrows, Spyro opened his mouth disbelievingly. "Really?"

"Absolutely! I've been investigating this sort of science since the first day that I came here."

"But… how?"

The corner of Avimus's lip rose slightly in a smirk, and his deep green eyes, for the first time, connected with Spyro's in a brief but seemingly everlasting moment. His dark, slit pupils penetrated through Spyro's own, piercing through an invisible barrier. "Like I said, it's my specialty."

He closed the book and approached Spyro. "I need to ask something of you, though; I want to make an exchange, of sorts. If I am to do this, I need you to cooperate with me."

"What am I to do?"

The dragon's expression lit up with such intensity that he did not look like the same benign figure that Spyro had first seen. "I want you to stay here. I want you to stay here until I can fully patch your wings. There is none of what you might call "magic" involved; this process takes longer than you would imagine, but if you wait, scars will form that will impair your flying− forever."

The forcefulness of Avimus's tone drove into Spyro's head like a drill. "And what is your side of the deal?"

"My side?" he laughed. "Don't you get it? Look around you, Spyro. Do you see anybody here? Do you see any way I could possible hone the skills that I gain from my studies? Do you really think that there could be a better opportunity for me than this? I think not!"

Uneasiness grew in Spyro's chest at the fanatic spiel and the insane gleam at this stranger's eyes. "I'm not so sure…"

"Not so sure about what? About being able to fly again, about carrying out your mission?"

His voice had raised to such a volume that the cat leapt to its feet and pranced up the stairs again, while Sparx, silent, watched with fascination. The room suddenly darkened like a windowless prison cell as the clouds passed through the sky outside of the cabin.

"I just don't want to be a hassle." Spyro paused and thought for a moment. "How did you even know that I'm on a mission?"

Avimus seemed to realize that he was speaking too loudly and dropped back into a normal tone of voice. "You wouldn't be here if you weren't. Listen, I don't want to force you into anything, but without your wings, you lose one of your major defenses against the hardships out there. I'm only offering to help you."

"I can't afford to waste time either, though," Spyro said, his resolve growing stronger. "There are over sixty moles and dragons combined depending on me, camped on an open hillside and vulnerable to attack from all sides. If an enemy attacked, it would be over for them."

The glare in Avimus's eyes was immediately replaced by a flash of disbelief. "And why can't they simply entrench themselves in Warfang?"

"They couldn't have. Warfang is gone."

"An entire city, gone?" Avimus mused incredulously.

Spyro began to back slowly towards the door that led out into the foyer. "Look, we don't want to bother you. Please forgive us for trespassing, we meant nothing by it."

Avimus opened his mouth in protest and started forward. "Don't leave the house! You don't realize what's out there!"

"Come on Sparx," Spyro called to the dragonfly, passing through the wooden entrance and into the neat foyer.

"Stop! I know what was chasing you!"

Sharp claws skidded on the fibrous floor as Spyro jerked around.

"And you won't doubt me," Avimus appealed desperately, "when you know what it is."

The hours that passed after Spyro had stumbled upon the cabin were remarkable ones indeed. Following them through the house like a ghost, the cat that Avimus had called Sirah slunk in the shadows as Avimus eagerly showed Spyro and Sparx to the upstairs room, which was no less dazzling than the main floor.

In that second floor, an enormous bed wrapped with a striped quilt and embellished with clawed feet lay against the wall directly in front of the top of the stairwell. Dressers and wardrobes lined one wall, drawers askew with linens, blankets, and supplies. The scene at the other side of the room, however, was what most attracted Spyro's attention.

Brown tubs and spinning apparatuses lined the burnished wall to the left. The water in the tubs was boiling somehow without a fire, and red tubes rested serenely at the bottom of each tub. A skinny, t-shaped metal twirled in circles with an unnaturally curved pipe in the center. A box tucked into the corner spouted steam every few seconds before calming down again.

Beckoning, Avimus hopped onto a stool beside the bed and pulled down on a lever. The flawless wooden platform that stood upright against the head of the bed creaked, protesting, gradually out, opening into the fresh air of the forest. Spyro followed him through the square frame above the bed and out of the house, while Sparx slipped through after.

The platform opened into a balcony over which the entire waterfall, contraptions and all, was completely visible. The clean water, rippling like a herd of animals rushing off of a cliff, gurgled around the polished stones before colloquially meeting with the pond below, while the crisp air of the turquoise forest glistened with the mist of the turbulent water.

Avimus cleared aside what looked like a piece of paper and a feather pen lying on the floor of the balcony before turning to Spyro. "This place, my home, is known as the Baslu Forest. Outside of a ten mile or so radius, nobody lives here but me, and nobody had ever been here but me until you and Sparx came along with your friend."

Spyro sat down and raised his eyebrows, eager to hear more.

"I work and study here to pursue my own interests, to find out more about the mysteries of this place. The unique part of the Baslu is that there are an astounding variety of organisms, organisms like plants and fungi that have unique and fascinating properties due to their components. The experimentation that you saw below involves the separation of those components into their key elements, to say, compounds. That study, if nothing else, is what it will take to have your wing function again."

"I was collecting samples at the edge of the Streamline, that is, the air-current that creates the desert that you passed through, when I heard a rustling noise. As you might assume, that was you. When you broke through the foliage at the edge of my meadow, you could barely have imagined my surprise. Another sentient being, the first one in three years, let alone a fellow dragon."

"Then, your funny little pursuer broke through after you. I saw you, concealed from where I stood, frantically trying to find a hiding spot while that monster was trying to seek you out. Now this is where the best part comes in."

He raised his leg, and Spyro noticed for the first time the thin leather strap that hooked around Avimus's ankle. With his mouth, he yanked at the end of the cord, which immediately yielded and fell off. Using his one of his paws, Avimus held up what looked like a miniscule whistle.

"This is a dog whistle. Dogs, in my opinion, are one of the most obnoxious species of animals to inhabit this planet. I carry this with me every time I go running, thank goodness for−"

"Running?" Spyro broke in. "What do you mean by running?"

Avimus tipped his head. "What do _you _mean by that? When I say running, I mean running."

"Never mind, go on, I want to hear this."

"So back to that moment," Avimus continued, "I didn't know what to do. I'm no fighter; I've never used these claws in my life to kill anything but plants and fungi. But when I looked closer at your assassin, I saw something that gave me an idea. Did you happen to notice those big gray ears?"

Spyro thought for a few seconds. "I think so, but I was a little bit caught up in the moment to really remember the details."

"Those ears reminded me of those of the dogs that roam this forest, the huge gray wolves. Dogs hate these whistles. On a hunch, I took this miracle-worker off my ankle and lit into it as hard as I could."

Suddenly, it all came back in Spyro's mind. "You're the one that made that sound!" Spyro exclaimed.

"Yes, it was me."

Spyro's eye opened wide with surprise. "You… you saved my life."

Avimus looked at the ground deferentially. "Don't put it that way. It was anything but heroic."

"Thank you…" said Spyro, looking at Avimus with a newfound respect. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? I never realized−"

"Look, don't thank me for something that took two seconds to do. I'm glad that I could help, but it's not a feat of amazement to blow into a whistle. Anyone would have done it if they were in my position, all but that dog."

A thought entered Spyro's head. "Actually, I think that we might have seen this thing before… before we even crossed the desert. I didn't see it, I mean. Cynder did. Have you ever seen anything like this in your forest before?"

Avimus laughed. "You forget, it's been ages since I've seen anything sentient, let alone a biped dog. No, I've never seen anything like it in my life and I hope that I never do again."

He cocked his head back up again. "Anyway, I couldn't find any sign of you. You'd obviously found a perfect hiding spot. What I did find, though, was this."

Tail whipping out suddenly, Avimus jumped through the opening in the balcony back into the bedroom and snatched something off of the nightstand beside the bed. He came back and laid a dark mass onto the floor. Spyro looked closer at the dark clot of fibrous material.

"It's gray fur," observed Avimus, scratching his chin with his free claw. "I've never seen anything like it before. Have you?"

"No…"

Avimus shrugged helplessly. "The hairs have some sort of greasy smear on them. I'll have to look closer, but in the meantime, I wouldn't go outside of this area."

"But what's to say that the dog isn't going to come into your house?" Spyro objected. "I can't rest until I've found a place for the citizens of Warfang!"

"The dog isn't coming into my place, not when I have Sirah here, and certainly not when I have this trusty little whistle," assured Avimus, dangling the whistle between his claws. "Tell me, though. I haven't given you the chance to tell me. What's all this about Warfang?"

Immediately, Spyro launched into his description of everything that had happened since the end of the war: Malefor's defeat and imprisonment, the sinking of Warfang, Terrador's request for both Spyro and Cynder to split into groups to accomplish two tasks at once, the incident with the air currents, and Volteer's final sacrifice. Simply releasing all of his thoughts and memories at Avimus felt like bliss; with every reaction in the orange dragon's composure, a weight was taken off of Spyro's chest.

"So let me get this straight," Avimus said after Spyro was done, "Terrador sent you… and you alone… to−"

"Don't forget about me," Sparx groaned angrily.

"Where have you been in all of this, anyway?" Spyro asked, his lip curling in amusement. "It's not like you to be so quiet."

Sparx clutched his abdomen in pain. "Butterflies got the best of me. Better listen to mom next time…"

"-to find a place of which you don't even know exists?"

Spyro tilted his head. "Yes. What of it?"

"Why wouldn't you travel as a group, though? Thirty dragons and thirty moles to me don't sound like a number worthy of the title "civilization." It wouldn't be that hard to cross the desert as a group, not to mention that you would be stronger that way."

"I dunno… maybe he didn't want to leave the cheetahs behind…"

Avimus snorted. "The cheetahs are proud. They would never leave their beloved valley, new alliance or not."

"How do you know so much about the Dragon Realms?" Spyro questioned earnestly. "You speak of it as if you'd once lived there."

He looked down at the floor, earthy green eyes glittering. "Don't think I've never been to Warfang before. How else would I know about it? Where do you think I was before these three long years? Why would I know your name if I hadn't heard say from the people of the Dragon Realms?"

"Why would you leave, though?"

Avimus gathered himself up and pushed the furled scroll on the floor out of the way. He made for the entrance to the bedroom, stepping down before hesitating. "Are you coming? I want to see if I can patch up your wing now."

As Avimus's tail disappeared through the opening in the balcony back into the cabin, Spyro raised his eyebrows at Sparx.

"Pushy, pushy," Sparx observed sagely.

"Now, I think that this sort of work is going to require stitches," Avimus explained, opening a wooden cabinet and fumbling around with the tinkling metal devices.

Spyro glanced uncomfortably around the messy, vial-strewn first floor. "What is this 'stitches'?"

"Ever heard of sewing?" Avimus inquired, removing a metal prong-like tool from the drawer. "Putting stiches on is just like making clothes and almost as easy... not that I know how to make clothes."

"I really don't like the sound of this," he fretted, looking at the tender, broken membrane.

"This will be the easy part, I promise you. The hard step is going to be repairing the broken nerve endings."

"Wouldn't it be easier to use red gems?"

Avimus's face contorted in an expression of disapproval. "There's no magic behind the healing power of the 'gem' that you talk about. That salt contains a simple endokinase bonding complex that is activated by the phospholipids of the cutaneous membrane−"

"Speak our language, please," Sparx cut in.

"Those gems are gifts from the ancient forefathers," argued Spyro. "Ignitus told me so."

Avimus picked out a second tool from the cabinet. The smirking face and glistening verdant eyes of the orange dragon seemed to mock him. "And you'll believe anything that anyone says? And you're telling me that a bunch of dead dragons rose up from the rotting humus to scatter magical little healing jewels all over the land so that the purple dragon of fame could one day use them to vanquish the horribly beasty? You've got to be kidding me."

"What are they, then, if they aren't magic?"

"Those 'gems' are not magical gifts," he asserted firmly, almost angrily. "They are simple organic compounds that catalyze the hemostatic process. In other words, there is a method to their healing power. Higher beings didn't send their power down to you in the form of those red salts; I've synthesized them myself in this very lab."

Spyro opened his mouth to retort, but Avimus held up a paw and resumed digging through the drawers, eventually pulling out a mortar and pestle and a spool of crudely-made wire.

Shuffling to a clay pot beside the window, he emptied his claws of all of the metal equipment and inserted his free paw through the pot to withdraw what appeared to be a bunch of purple berries. He then grabbed one of the vials on the table, which contained a clear liquid that seemed somewhat similar to water, and a bundle of frilled herbs.

Inhaling, Avimus scooped up the purple berries and quickly poured them into the mortar. As he ground them, Spyro could see that the insides of the fruits were not filled with juice, but black, powdery seeds. The pulpy skin soon melded into the black insides of the material, yielding a navy blue mass of salve.

"What I have here," he finally commented, "is the seed of the trugula poppy. It's an anesthetic that behaves like nitrous oxide or laughing gas, which means that your nocireceptors will be numbed, and you won't feel a thing while I do my work."

"I'm still not sure about this."

"Smart dragon, you are, and I'm not being sarcastic this time. This stuff is highly addictive; if you take too much of it, you could become dependent on it and fall into a state of eternal craving."

Sparx hovered above the table. "Everything's all flowers and honeybees, ain't it. Can't anyone lighten up around here?"

The salve was spread along the fibrous surface of frail linen. Avimus approached Spyro with the seed-smudged cloth, holding it closer to Spyro's nose.

Thinking quickly, Spyro retracted, avoiding the material. "I really don't want to have an eternal craving, thank you."

Avimus shook his head, waving the cloth around. "Don't worry, I'm not trying to get you addicted. This is a negligible amount, and the berry is exceedingly rare in the first place. For all that I know, it only grows in the Baslu Forest here. I wouldn't be trying to debilitate you if I'm really here to bring you back to strength."

Reluctantly, Spyro permitted Avimus to run the linen over his snout, smearing the substance over his nostrils and leaving the silky material over Spyro's nose. He proceeded to pick up the bundle of herbs and grind them in a cleaned mortar.

The world immediately began to blur around Spyro, blending into thousands of shades of colors and many varieties of shapes. His senses dulled as the anesthetic took over his body, filtering through at the speed of light. Contrastingly, everything else seemed to be slowing down. He could still identify the yellow light in the corner of his eyes as Sparx, the orange, moving blur in the corner of his eyes as Avimus, but the nothing else made sense anymore. The feeling of stability under his purple scales dropped away, and he felt as if he were floating on a cloud.

"What did you do to him!" Sparx cried out in anguish, flying closer and attempting to move Spyro's fluttering eyelids.

The herbs ground into a pesto paste from the pestle, Avimus proceeded to dump the clear contents of the vial into the mortar. The components sizzled and emulsified into the mass. "He'll be all right. As I said before, this stuff is no more dangerous than any other anesthetic, and it'll save him more from the anxiety than the minimal physical pain of the surgery."

"Surgery? You didn't say anything about no full-on surgery!"

"I wouldn't call it surgery, precisely," Avimus admitted, grasping the mortar with one free paw. "It's more like "patching" with this salve, which contains a special sort of protein complex, one of the focuses of my work in this forest. I call it the 'super-protein endokinase complex producer,' or SPECP for short. I could fall into a rant about these molecules, but I don't have the time to explain a quarter of what I would say."

"Thank you for not doing that," Sparx sighed.

"In a nutshell, SPECPs exist in plants such as this girding plant. The red salts that you call 'gems' contain simpler forms of SPECPs, solutions that wouldn't function half as well as the SPECPs in the girding. They only worked on your trip because Spyro and Cynder most likely never became truly injured, and foremost, they don't have the capacity to do what I want them to do."

"I guess..."

Avimus helped lay Spyro onto his side as he emitted a groan of grogginess. He plunked onto his side, stirring up a cloud of dust particles that clung to his vibrant violet scales. "Do you remember me talking about the vulnerability of the patagia, the membranes? When I place this fluid with hyperactive SPECPs over the wing membranes, the entire process of healing will be accelerated a hundred fold through a cycle that I won't explain now. It's a delicate proceeding, though, because too much salve is damaging to healthy tissue."

Starting with the unbroken left wing, Avimus expanded Spyro's three wing "digits," as he had called them, from his breastplates to his tail, the wingspan of even an adolescent dragon being as long as that dragon's body. The absence of membrane between the digits was blatantly and painstakingly obvious, less so when the wing had been folded against Spyro's back.

He held up a pair of sharp, metal prong-like tweezers. "These are microforceps, and they get the job done on a miniscule level, though that's what we want in this case."

Sparx watched in fascination as Avimus began to work at the wing, starting at the end nearest the tail. He pinched the edges of the copper-orange membrane and arranged the remaining membrane so that it nearly covered the space between the two digits, as before. With a needle and the metal wire, he pierced the edge of the patagium and threaded the rips together, claws moving at a surprisingly fast rate of speed. Before long, the membrane was stretched back between the digits, a crisscross of metal wire running through the center.

Without waiting, the curious dragon grabbed the salve and with the forceps dabbed the green paste delicately in the ripped spaces between the metal zigzags. Sparx could barely believe his eyes at the reaction of the wings to the salve. The uneven edges fused together like molten iron might coagulate into a thin, perfect sheet. Avimus, taking a pair of what looked like shears or clippers from the table, snipped small bits of the metal wire from the membrane as he worked towards the center of the rip, filling in the spaces that the metal left with additional paste.

Before long, he had finally reached the edge of the first wing membrane and patched the final part of the rip.

"Amazing!" Sparx exclaimed, zipping around excitedly. "It looks the same… no… better than it did before!"

"There's only one way to test that, and I've still got five more patagia to mend."

"It's just like magic!"

Avimus pinched together the second part of Spyro's left wing. "It's not magic. It's science."

Before long, the strange little dragon had reinstated the remaining two "patagial" membranes between the last two digits of the wing and the primary appendage with his filling and clipping process. The entire wing, previously tattered and useless, seemed gleaming and youthful once again. With a clean rag frothing with soap bubbles, Avimus wiped off the remaining debris from the left wing and folded it gently against Spyro's back.

Spyro groaned, his eyelids fluttering and eyeballs moving autonomously, again as Avimus tipped him to his other side, revealing the broken, bloody right wing where the worst of the damage had been done. He spread the wing in the same way the best that he could and sat down to think for a moment.

"This is going to be much different than the first part, much different," Avimus explained to Sparx. "The worst part is that he can't feel anything in his wing. I say that, not because I'm a ruthless sadist, but because that means that the damage is really serious. I'm going to have to replace his nerve ending with something more potent, but before I do that, I have to heal all of the fractures in these digits."

"How are you going to do that, though?"

Avimus placed the mortar and forceps on the floor and rushed back to the drawer. "The fractures are going to be harder than the membrane to put back together, because osteocytes, the smallest unit of bones, take much longer to react and perform mitosis. I think that I have just the material for this, though."

Rummaging through the drawer, he found a pair of gloves that seemed to match his paws and pulled out a knife and a mallet, then hurriedly grabbed a gnarly brown root and a vial with a different transparent liquid from the table filled with plants.

He lay the wrench down against Spyro's belly and picked up the mallet, pounding the root into pulp against the ground. "This lumproot is more coagulative and less soluble than the girding plant, which means that it's better for internal organs because it has the same effect as the girding but may be removed more quickly. The isopropyl alcohol that I have will also neutralize the SPECPs in the lumproot so that Spyro's local circulation can clean and dispose of the excess. It's going to take up to an hour to complete, though, so be patient or find something to amuse yourself other than being eaten by the giant _Dionaea muscipula_."

"What's that?" asked Sparx, confused.

Avimus pointed to the enormous venus flytrap in the corner of the room.

"Oh, yeah, I'd prefer not to be eaten by that."

Cleaning the forceps, Avimus dabbed the metal tips into the lump root and approached the open fracture of the digit at the end of Spyro's wing. The entire digit was at an odd angle, and dried blood had accumulated around a white spot where the bone had pierced the skin. With gloves on, he tipped the end of the digit upward, moving the fractured bone back into the skin. The area began to leak blood, so he wiped the end with sterilized linens.

After the area was clean, he inserted two metal clips and used the forceps to apply the lumproot to the broken bone, leaning in to the wound and squinting through the small broken area of skin. With the lumproot on the bone, it began to sizzle and froth. He left the farthest digits and proceeded to the two others.

With the knife, he cut open the bruised skin of the second digit, revealing the fractured bone within and causing a spurt of blood. With the incision bleeding, he applied the same method of sterilization, clipping, and dabbing the lumproot, causing the area to froth again. After the third digit was finished with the same procedure, the sizzling had already stopped on the first.

Avimus inspected the initial open fracture. The lumproot paste outwardly seemed to have had no effect, but he repeated the previous steps again on every digit.

For a long time, the orange dragon diligently worked away at the open wounds, switching tools at the speed of light and pouring the alcohol over the wound every few minutes. Sparx could see that he was beginning to tire, his vibrant, electric-blue wings and frills drooping with exhaustion and earthy eyes blinking slowly. Spyro himself snorted outwards occasionally, moving his body around subconsciously.

Finally, after about two hours, the work on the bone was finally finished. Avimus slumped back and wiped his head against his shoulder, curved brown horns grazing the orange scales. "Sparx, why don't you come and take a look at this and see what you think," he ordered resignedly.

"Nah, I don't like looking at blood."

"It's not that bloody, I promise."

Sparx half-heartedly flew in closer, reluctant to see his friend in this state. His eyes widened at the sight of the golden digits, all intact except at the angles, where the bone showed through the incisions in the skin, bleach-white and intact.

"I don't like seeing that bone…" Sparx shuddered.

"Yes," Avimus said, smiling. "You might not think it's a pretty sight, but the bone is completely mended. There is no more fracture in the upper wing, and I think I can put the skin and the membrane back together again."

With the girding salve, Avimus worked the tissue back over the bone in the same way that he had with the left wing membranes, forming a flawless sheath around all of the digits. He then proceeded to piece the membranes back together, one by one, until all were gleaming scarlet once again. The entire wing was washed off and then lain carefully against the body rather than folded over.

"Amazing!" Sparx rejoiced aloud. "I've never seen anyone like you before!"

Avimus exhaled weakly. "Please, don't cheer yet. I've come to the part that I've been dreading. Yes, the patagia and digits are all mended, but if I don't fix that motor nerve ending now, Spyro may never fly again. I've got a problem."

"What's that?" Sparx replied, worried.

"I've never done something like this before. Bones repair themselves, as do membranes, but nerves rarely do so. I've been using these materials to speed up reactions, but if there is no reaction, there's no reaction. I can repair ligaments, muscles, and other somatic tissues, but not nerves."

He hobbled to the table and peered at the journal. "I'm going to have to improvise."

Pages flipped, crinkling, as Avimus pored over his writings and fieldwork, his snout inches away from the crudely-bound edges.

At one point, he groaned and slammed his fist on the table. "I'm really not sure about this," he fretted to Sparx. "It's got to be done now, though, before the glial scars form. Otherwise, the damage is irreversible."

His voice lowered in volume as he began to mutter to himself. "Inhibit the interleukins and cytokines B-1/B-2 from releasing, fibrosis might be stalled, but chondroitin sulfate proteoglycans can't be prevented from looping glucuronics and glycosaminoglycans. If only I could digest CSPG compounds and apply the fine SPECPs. How, though, how? NOGO, ephrin, MAP?"

Bustling to the table filled with vials and bubbling liquids, his mouth opened and closed slowly, though no words came out. After fumbling about with the vials, he pulled out three test tubes.

"Collagen? Tenascin? Integrin? Which one will bond?"

Spyro's arm flicked about involuntarily, and Sparx flew up to the ceiling in surprise. One of the empty vials on the table, smudged with residue of some past experiment, whipped off the table as Avimus whipped around in frustration. Glass shards bounced off of the wall and stuck into the floor. Avimus looked out the window into the light, turquoise-colored forest and thought for a moment, the cool breeze toying with the blue frills of his head.

"Maybe," he murmured. "Just maybe… fibronectin. Yes, fibronectin. That's got to be it!"

He yelled excitedly to Sparx, "I think I've got it! I know how to do this!"

Picking up one of the vials on the table filled quarter-ways with cloudy liquid, Avimus rushed back to Spyro's prone body and examined the location where the right wing meets with the skin.

"This is where the problem is, and I know how to reverse the scarring and make a reaction happen. It's just a matter of chemical digestion."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Sparx," but I think that you know what you're doing."

With caution, Avimus took up the knife and made an incision at the junction between the wing and the body. He sterilized the area with alcohol, wiping blood off, and manually opened a small pocket of muscle tissue. When he tapped the bottle several times to make several drips fall out onto the self-inflicted wound, the location turned black and almost dead-looking.

"What is that?" asked Sparx, who had snuck a glance in.

"It's just the result of a synthesis reaction between a scarring protein and this fibronectin."

"I have no idea what that means."

He scraped the residue off of the wound and moved the forceps, tipped in lumproot pulp, over the area. Almost immediately, a pink striated tissue wrapped around the wound and fused to the other end of the wound. A smile spread across Avimus's face and grew ever wider as he replaced the skin with the forceps and girding salve. In a final movement of exuberating celebration, Spyro's right wing was folded neatly back against his body. Avimus removed the trugula berry from Spyro's nose.

"You did it!" Sparx yelled like a maniac. "He's a member of the official flying club again!"

"I think I might cry," Avimus sniveled.


	11. Fighting Fire with Fire

The blue-gray cheetah advanced on Cynder menacingly, still baring his white set of sharp fangs. Mouth agape, Cynder backed slowly away not timidly but cautiously from the stalk of the fungus that stood in the center of the clearing.

"Tell me, already, before things get nasty," Lennox growled, his fur standing up along his backbone. "Where is the purple dragon? "

Sabina had crept up stealthily and was now standing just behind Cynder, watching Lennox warily.

"Spyro's not here," Cynder said hastily. "You must be mistaken."

Lennox's ice-blue eyes flashed dangerously as he gripped his dagger. "You lie!"

"I'm not lying! He's gone the other way!"

He glared at Cynder through distrusting pupils. Then, without warning, Lennox leapt upon Cynder with a hiss of intimidation, landing on her back and forcing her to the ground. She flailed, whipping her spiked tail to and fro while struggling to recover from the shock.

Furiously, Lennox bashed the side of Cynder's head with the dagger, though only the flat of the blade contacted with her skull. All the same, brilliant stars appeared and blinded her vision. He raised his arm to strike again.

The weight suddenly was lifted from her bruised back as the cheetah slid off of her from the force of an impact. She opened her eyes and saw Sabina standing over Lennox, holding him down with a single paw next to the enormous red mushroom while he thrashed and floundered about like a wild bull. Many times his size, Sabina stared down at him sternly and almost motherly, keeping a tight pressure on his chest to prevent him from escaping.

"Why the aggression?" Sabina asked firmly. "What did you have to gain from that?"

Lennox squirmed again from under her hold, refusing to answer and trying to free his dagger.

"You had no chance," said Sabina, "for we are two, and you are but one."

The crashing of heavy pads against shrubbery resonated through the forest, causing Cynder to stand shakily to her paws and peer in the direction of the path. The sound came nearer and nearer, and Sabina turned her head away from Lennox, loosening her grip. Abruptly, two cheetahs crashed through the foliage running at breakneck speed. They both stopped when they saw the scene unfolding under the mushroom cap.

"Stop! Don't hurt him!" cried out the one in the white tunic. She rushed forward towards Sabina, a look of terror on her face at the sight of Lennox on the ground.

Lennox jerked again, this time pulling free from Sabina. He grabbed the fallen dagger and without further ado crawled to the base of the fungus. Bearing the dagger, he swiped across the stalk, cutting through the fibrous material as if it were butter and shearing the entire tube in two. Everyone looked up as the spotted red cap of the mushroom shivered and swayed, the mushroom stalk cut out from under.

A flash of white light rent the clearing, blinding all three cheetahs and two dragons. Cynder stumbled around aimlessly, feeling over crumbled roots and gritty rocks as he eyes readjusted to the surroundings. Slowly, the bleached green tint from the flash faded out of her sight.

"What was that?" she asked, still recovering.

Swaying, the cheetah in the white tunic bent over the prone figure of Lennox and prodded him gently. "Lennox? Are you okay? It's Lotus."

Cynder crossed her eyes and tried to interpret her surroundings as Sabina milled around, bumping into what looked like Hunter. Something was different. Something was very different. The clearing seemed emptier now, less enchanted and more like a quiet, quaint little meadow.

The center of the meadow caught her eye. The place appeared more open, less colorful. The mushroom… the mushroom was gone. She looked closer. A silhouette of a bulky figure on four legs blended with the trees, moving about and seeming to transform as it passed over the trunks.

Her eyebrows rose. In the center of the clearing stood a huge, navy-blue beast, a fully-grown dragon. His deep blue, scaled wings were easily the size of Sabina's entire body, yet the lucent membranes had no rips or tears like many older dragons'. His broad and angular face tilted upward, revealing two jagged horns and a long snout. The dragon's tail tapered at the end, frayed and seemingly broken. Ovular, expressive eyes, the color of profound blue… no, dull gray… evaluated the disorder in the clearing.

Lotus bent over Lennox, shaking him, while Sabina and Hunter seemed finally to have noticed the newcomer. Sabina narrowed her untrusting eyes as Hunter gazed at Cynder and acknowledged her with a nod of his head.

The figure took several steps forward and stopped, sniffing the air like an animal. He paused and then raised his prim claws to level with his gray… no, navy blue eyes, examining his paw as if for the first time.

Cynder stepped forward, trying to seem dignified, but the dragon snapped his head to the side, catching her with his broad gaze. She huddled like a cornered animal.

"Well, well, well," the blue dragon's deep voice boomed from his mouth, resonating through the space. "Fresh air never tasted better… then again, I'd almost forgotten how it would taste."

Hunter bit his lip. "Who are you?"

The dragon ignored Hunter and continued to stare at Cynder. "By the lights, which one of you took the initiative to do it? Was it you?" He raised a claw at Cynder.

"What do you mean? I didn't do anything," Cynder said, bowing her spiked head.

"One of you had to have freed me," he said. "Come now."

Cynder and Sabina looked at the unconscious body of Lennox, over which Lotus prowled defensively. The blue dragon followed their eyes and unfurled his wings.

"Ahh… So he is the one who broke the curse. It seems that the bonds that held me captive were stronger than my captors once thought… but not strong enough," he observed, watching Lotus as she agitatedly inspected Lennox's old dagger wounds. The dragon rose to his hind legs, stretched his arms over his muzzle as if yawning, and returned to the ground.

"Tell me," he said with zest. "Who sent you to free me? How did you know about me?"

Cynder and Hunter exchanged puzzled glances. "Nobody sent us," Cynder explained. "It was a coincidence that we ended up here."

"Aha… so you don't know…" The statement seemed more of a passive observation than a question. "Are you sure that Enric didn't send you?"

As Cynder and Hunter shook their heads, Sabina started forward, a startled expression on her round face.

"Did you say Enric?" she asked, her green scales and bronze platelets flashing iridescently. "Enric… Enric is my uncle."

The blue dragon raised his eyebrows, taking a sudden interest in the earth dragoness. He turned towards her, eyeing her with his enormous, watery brown eyes as if she were a juicy piece of prey. "Niece of the legendary patriarch, are you? Well, you must recognize me, then."

Sabina seemed extremely flustered at that question. "I am… sorry," she stuttered, with an intense expression of concentration. "I'm trying to… I think I've seen you before… but I can't seem to remember."

"Well, think no further," he said grandly. "I am the great Lateef, master of the magnificent element of ice."

"I am Sabina," she replied, staring solemnly. "And my companion here is Cynder."

"And what of your other fine… partners in travel?"

She gazed at the three cheetahs confusedly. Lotus had finally given up on trying to rouse Lennox and was standing over him defensively.

"I, Hunter, come from the Valley of Avalar," said Hunter, "along with two other warriors, Lotus and Lennox. Our meeting with Cynder and Sabina was entirely up to chance."

"Aah, the plot thickens," Lateef hissed, drawing emphasis on the _s_. "Is it that you've already met these two dragons?"

"Yes," Hunter said cautiously. "We've met them before."

Seeming satisfied with the answer, Lateef drew his wings in and paced towards Sabina, his ivory horns gleaming. "I presume that you are returning to Reddlebrooke to see your uncle?"

Cynder eyed him suspiciously. _Please don't say anything stupid, Sabina_, she willed silently.

"Of course!" Sabina answered. "Do you know him? My uncle, I mean?"

Lateef laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle, his chest visibly rising as he exhaled strongly. "Do I know him? Sabina, I know Enric like the back of my hand!"

Unsettled, Hunter shifted in place, weathered cape swishing in the wind. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but we, the warriors of Avalar, can't stand here and talk all day," he said before pointing towards Lotus and Lennox. "We've gotten what we came here for, and I now have an injured cheetah on my hands. You must excuse us."

With that, the Avalarian commander bent down and whispered something to Lotus, who nodded and began to bundle Lennox's body in the robe and drag him away from the dragons. He followed after her with a stealthy gait, tugging his hood over his pointed ears.

"I'll have to agree with Hunter. Time needn't be wasted," said Cynder, wanting to buy time to talk with Hunter. "We really must move on."

Lateef's pupils shrunk from orbs into snake-like slits. "Of course… I wouldn't want to impede you from going your own way. I'll be fine here all on my own."

Taking her cue, Cynder started towards the three cheetahs but stopped when she noticed that Sabina had not moved.

"So, Lateef," Sabina said to the dragon. "Tell me how you met my uncle."

Cynder sighed and shrugged her shoulders. The dimwit could give away her own secrets, for all Cynder cared.

Her claws ran through the fallen leaves, rustling and notifying Hunter of her presence. He was standing over Lennox, who seemed to be gradually recovering his senses and coming to. His teak cloak had ripped at the seams where a dagger had pierced, and dried blood stained the area. Lennox's eyelids flickered and then opened slightly, revealing sharp, blue eyes.

"Where…," he murmured.

Lotus appeared from the bushes with the green falchion in her paws, a stern expression on her gray face. "Lennox…" she whispered. "Lennox, Lennox, Lennox."

He let his head fall back shamefully as she spoke. "You don't have any idea− you don't have a single idea− how short-sighted you are."

Cynder paused and crouched down, unsure of whether she should stay or turn around.

"You could have died! You could have been killed! Or worse, you could have killed somebody! Do you think that I could have lived with that sort of tarnish on our record? We've been travelling two days straight, no sleep, no rest, all in search of you, and if that's not bad enough, Prowlus… Prowlus, do you know what he did?"

Lennox's lip quavered as he shook his head.

"He's exiled us! Exiled us! In the name of your… your…" she paused and took a breath. "Why are you doing this?"

Paws on his chest, he opened his mouth, but no words escaped.

"You… you don't even have a motive. Senseless. Completely senseless. I'm ashamed of you. Our parents would have been ashamed of you."

Cynder tried to rustle some more leaves around so that Lotus would notice her, but the determined cheetah continued ranting and brandishing her green falchion.

"From where she's watching us, Aspen is ashamed of you. She knows what you really want, and I know what you really want. You're looking for your own name. You can't find any other name but a bad one, and that's the one you'll take if that's all there is."

She gazed down at Lennox, and as her kudzu-green eyes met his cool-iceberg ones, the expression of distaste transformed into something else. Her lips pursed, and her eyelids began to water. A single, salty tear formed at the corner of her eye, clinging for a moment before dropping downward onto Lennox's chest, darkening the fabric over his heart.

"I've lost Aspen," she said, dismay written in her face. "Now it seems I've lost you, too."

Stolidly, Hunter focused on the two siblings. "We've got a visitor."

Cynder approached the cheetahs, a weary pall in her face. Lotus narrowed her emotion-filled eyes, while Lennox turned his head the other way and looked into the distance.

"Cynder," said Hunter. "Great to see you again."

She sat and nodded her head, giving Lennox, her would-be attacker, a stare. "You too, Hunter. I just wish it could have been at a better time."

"Looks like you're always off on a journey, Cynder," he observed, almost to himself. "What brings you here?"

"It's just…" She broke off, wondering if she should voice her concerns in front of Lotus and Lennox, "this Lateef guy worries me. Why would somebody trap him under a spell? He's either done something diabolically wrong or been a victim of chance, and I seriously doubt that somebody would encase him in this place for nothing."

"Don't worry," Hunter assured her. "I don't trust a lick of him either, but there's nothing to prove his guilt."

"That's true. All the same, I get the feeling that Lateef's not going to stay here and sightsee while we leave for the village. Sabina's already warmed up to him, and before you know it, I'll have to cope with two undesired partners."

"Yeah," he said, out of the corner of his eye noting Lateef conversing with the earth dragoness.

"Are you going back to Avalar now?"

"Well−"

"No," Lotus interrupted Hunter firmly, standing to full height. "If Prowlus doesn't want us there, we won't go back. Our family has had a bad enough history there. It's high time that we make something else out of ourselves."

Hunter didn't argue but instead turned away resignedly. As Lotus continued to treat Lennox and Sabina chatted to Lateef, Cynder was forced to watch what little sun remained in the sky disappear in a flash of red over the canopy of the trees. She sighed and shook her spiked head frequently as she stayed by the side of the cheetahs, lying against a trunk. Her black scales rubbed against the tender bark, and the pendant of seashells around her neck grazed the forest floor.

Eventually, as the final rays of light peeked from the uppermost leaves, Cynder, exasperated, stealthily glided the short leap to where Lateef and Cynder stood. She pricked her head at the sound of their voices.

"−and that was when Uncle appointed McKay as deputy patriarch, but I cannot remember what happened after that."

"Sabina, your account of Enric has deeply heartened me. I very much would like to meet with my dear old friend after all this time, but I fear I should never again have the chance to see him."

"What's stopping you from going to him?"

"You know that Enric wouldn't welcome me if I walked into Reddlebrooke all on my own! We disputed some major aspects of our personal lives the last time we were together, and now, he most definitely does not want to see me as much as I want to see him. If only there was somebody just close enough to Enric to make him see the sense in the matter, somebody that really matters to him."

"I could do that for you. I could make him understand."

"Oh, but I wouldn't ask such a heavy burden of you. You've enough on your plate what with this journey."

"There is no harm in trying. It would be so easy for you to… just come with us."

` "No, I'd only weigh you down."

"I do not think that we are far from the village."

"Really, now."

"Please, Lateef, sir! If you are all that you say that you are, you must be really important to Uncle!"

"In all interests−"

"You must come!"

"If you insist, I suppose I may."

It gave Cynder the chills to hear Lateef's last four words. She whipped around, not caring whether or not Lateef or Sabina heard her leave. The wind grazed the indentations in her scaled cheeks as she landed near the cheetahs again.

"Hunter," she called before she noticed the commander still waiting beside Lotus and Lennox.

"What is it?"

She paused for a breath while Hunter searched her face curiously. "I was half-joking when I Sabina befriending Lateef, but now−"

"He's done exactly that?" Hunter guessed.

"Well, yes," she admitted. "I can't believe how susceptible she is to this kind of stuff! It's really sad, to tell you the truth, to see Lateef manipulating her.

Just then, a thought surfaced from the depths of her mind. A vague memory. Spyro. They were standing in the woods with Sparx, in the center of a leaf-strewn meadow beside an old oak.

_She's misled, and a misled person is easily manipulated. She has to discover that for herself… and she will_.

Cynder shook her head as she remembered Spyro's words. Spyro would know what to do if he were here, or he would at least be of comfort to her. For the first time, a pang entered her heart at the thought of the purple dragon. They had known each other for only a week, but that week had seemed to last over three years, the first three years of her true life.

The sight of Hunter, standing with a paw against his furry chin, brought Cynder back to reality. "What are _you_ going to do now?" she asked.

"Cynder, I'm on the fence over the whole issue," Hunter sighed. "We've found our runaway, but then, that's the problem. Lotus is right when she says that they won't be welcome back at the village. A runaway is a traitor and a coward in the eyes of our people, and Prowlus will no doubt have portrayed that image of both Lennox and Lotus to the ears of all of the villagers."

"He didn't look like he was in the state to do that when I saw him, though."

"What do you mean?"

"He was a mess the last time I saw him."

A streak of deep concern crossed into Hunter's wearied face. "How so?"

"He wouldn't even come out of his hut, let alone speak to anybody. When we did see him, he could barely speak, and his hair was in tatters."

"No," he denied her softly, a look of horror in his expression. "That's not right. That doesn't sound like Prowlus."

Hunter looked at Lennox and Lotus. "That's not at all like Prowlus. What you've seen of him isn't what he really is. As an outsider, you've never seen Prowlus at the height of his leading role. He's part of a long line of leaders not only competent, but understanding and focused. It's not in his blood to be like that, and I'd know, seeing as I'm the one who grew up with him. He could be hard-headed, but never, ever like that."

He bit his lip and turned back to Cynder. "I've failed Prowlus. You don't realize, but it all must be like this because of me."

"I wouldn't say that!" Cynder protested.

"I underestimated him. He really did trust in me."

Night enveloped the skies, stealing the light of the sun from the grasp of the heavens. Under the canopies, the atmosphere was rent with indecision. All of the travelers, cheetahs and dragons, were by some unstated agreement dosing off, Cynder with the cheetahs on one side and Lateef and Sabina on the other. As the last light of day had disappeared with the night, Cynder disappeared into the realm of dreams as Lennox tossed and turned beside Lotus.

Nothing had entered Lennox's mind since he'd freed the dragon from the spell. Absolutely nothing. There was no open path, no new way out. His sister and the ever-interfering "Commander" Hunter had seen to that.

He stopped trying to sleep and instead turned on his side to watch the glow of the moon shimmering on the forest floor. The rays illuminated the sleeping body of Lotus, distinguishing every straight blue-gray hair on her face. Her nostrils flared as she breathed easily.

A sad gleam in his eyes, Lennox turned back onto his back and laid his head onto his arms. Immediately, a set of unseen claws closed over his mouth and dragged him backwards. Protesting, he fought the grasp of the paw, trying to make a noise to alert Lotus or Hunter or at least secure the dagger from his side. He kicked to the side, flailing his body and making an impact with a stubby leg.

With a grunt, the creature stopped pulling Lennox but kept the claw over his mouth.

"Shhh," said a voice. "I'm here to help you. Lennox, is it?"

The claws retracted, and Lennox shook his head to clear the confusion. Angrily, he stumbled to his feet and used a tree trunk for support. Squinting, Lennox looked closer at the source of the voice.

"Lateef?"

"Well-guessed, young Lennox," Lateef said, stepping into the full light of the moon. Half of his blue face was shadowed by the light of the moon.

"What− what do you want?"

"Why, I simply wanted to thank you for your warm patronage in freeing me. You've no idea how it feels to be locked in a fungus for a decade!"

"I don't think I have," said Lennox with caution. "What do you really want, though? You wouldn't drag me off if that was all you wanted."

Lateef circled around the trunk, the white rays refracting off of the navy scales on his body. "Forgive me for handling you as I did, but I had to talk with you in a place where the others wouldn't hear us. If there was a more convenient way, then trust me, I would have taken it."

As the filtering light from the moon shifted from one side of Lateef's face to the other, his brown eyes changed to a rustic blue. "Will is the key to revenge, and I've seen it in your mind. Answer me this. What would you do to succeed?"

"What would I do to succeed?" Lennox repeated. "Why, I'd do anything! I'd rip off my own tail for the chance to… the chance to…"

"To avenge somebody? To serve a lost one after an untimely death as you failed to do so in life? To dispose of the one that caused your family's suffering?"

For a moment, the support of the tree seemed to drop beneath Lennox as his mind cycled. Nobody had ever voiced his motives in words, not even he.

Lateef curled his spiked tail around the tree trunk and looked Lennox directly in the eyes. "Do you feel as if you've gone in the wrong direction? That you have no return?"

"That's... that's exactly it," he mouthed. "Can you read minds?"

"Read minds?" Lateef chuckled, throwing his head back. "Of course not! But I _can _do much more than that."

"Like what?"

The blue dragon scrutinized Lennox carefully, concentrating on his face. Then, his head snapped back, and he stood stock-still for several seconds as if frozen in time. He seemed almost serene, as if gazing over a large expanse of water.

Suddenly, a flash of white emanated from Lateef's body, the same sort of flash that had blinded the others earlier. Lennox shook his head, clearing the bleached apparition from his vision.

Lennox's mouth hung agape. In front of him was what seemed like a mirror image of himself. The same worn teak cape shrouded the furry gray-blue body of the cheetah in front of him, the iceberg-colored irises of his eyes shining with a greenish pall in the light of the night. His duplicate smirked devilishly at him and regarded him with the intensity of a hawk.

"Lateef?" Lennox tried.

"Don't panic too much, Lennox," said his duplicate. "You haven't gone mad."

Dumbfounded, he slumped against the pine. "How?"

"It's a talent of mine."

A wave of hope entered Lennox's mind. "Do you mean that you can change into anything? Anything you want?"

"As long as I know what it looks like, I can become it," said Lateef, imitating Lennox's customary stance.

"You sound just like me, too!" Lennox observed excitedly. "What else can you do?"

"Many things, many things," Lateef explained in Lennox's own voice. "The years before my captors shut me in here, I came to learn basic magic skills: nothing dark, mind you, but magical nonetheless."

"Now I feel I can trust you to know these things about me because it seems as if you've a trustworthy character," he continued. "I have a plan that I think will function to our mutual benefit. You might phrase it as a 'win-win situation.' You've been wronged, but I, too, have been wronged by somebody completely different. If we work towards rectifying those wrongs, per se, we can get what we really want."

Lennox rotated his head to the side. "How have you been wronged?"

"If I tell you, will you tell me exactly what happened to you?"

He thought for a moment. "Sure, I don't see any harm in it."

"Very well." His duplicate stroked his paw across his furry ears and watched the full moon in its determined course across the sky. "You may have heard say of the dragon patriarch of this village to which these two dragons who you met are travelling. His name is Enric."

"I told them only that I knew Enric, and know him I did. Before I ever knew about my very own powers, I lived in that village, Reddlebrooke. There was once a time when I was happy, and let's just say that Enric ruined everything for me. We were but younglings, but he had the audacity to drive me out of that dreaded place only a week after I had experienced my first transformation. The most tragic part of the whole ordeal is that the village supported the arrogant oaf."

"To boil everything down, it so was that I lived in a cave for two decades, doing nothing but shunning all that lived, building my anger inside of myself. Finally, I'd had enough, and I returned to Reddlebrooke to settle the score. I knew Enric would be in charge of the place; he is after all part of a line of leaders. To settle the score, I hit him where I knew it would hurt most, and he punished me by fighting fire with fire, by secluding me once again, this time forcibly, in this accursed hole."

"And so here I am," Lateef said bitterly. "He's struck at me again, and now it's time for me to strike back."

"He sounds horrible," Lennox observed guardedly.

Lateef finally stole his eyes from the moon and bowed his head to the floor. "You've no idea."

Neither of the two Lennoxes said a word for several seconds, but the sound of cicadas drowned out the silence.

"What happened to you that's put the fire of revenge in your eyes, Lennox?" aed Lateef. "Maybe I could help you on your way."

Lennox laughed weakly. "You're in for a very, very long story."

By the time Lennox and Lateef were almost back to the meadow where the others had fallen asleep, the sky had transformed into the color of blood. Lotus yawned, drawing in the fresh air and stretching her arms, before feeling around for Gaea in the fog of her drowsiness. Her paws found the hilt of the falchion, and she lifted it into the air, feeling the light weight of the sword.

A rustling by the bushes distracted her, and through her morning-impaired vision, she noticed Lennox strolling beside an ice-blue dragon, talking in a hushed voice.

"It could really be that great? I could get a new chance?"

"Yes, all you have to do is the persuasion."

Lotus shook her head, not understanding the words coming out of their mouths. She rose to her feet and shambled unsteadily towards the unlikely pair.

"Lennox, what are you doing?" she called out.

Lateef and Lennox stopped in their tracks and gazed at her. "I must find out if the others have woken," said Lateef. "Come to see me when you are ready to go."

Lateef strode in the direction of the sleeping green mass that was Sabina, while Lennox simply stopped and stared at Lotus with emotion in his eyes. Without warning, he sprinted in her direction and embraced her, his warm blue-gray cheeks brushing against hers. He clung on to her shoulders and looked into her own eyes, which widened at the sight of his tears.

"Lotus," he whispered, blue irises glimmering. "It's my fault. It's all my fault."

She raised her eyebrows. "What?"

"I've been a fool not to see what damage I've done," said Lennox, bowing his head. "You're right. Aspen probably hates me, from wherever she is."

"Hates you? Lennox−"

"No," he interrupted. "It's too late to reconcile my actions. I just… I just want to be a better brother for you. I've pursued my loss and ignored what I really have in the world. It's you, Lotus."

Lotus's mouth hung open for a second. What was this? Could he really mean what he was saying? _Maybe I haven't lost him after all!_

"I've been thinking," said Lennox, "I want to start over. I want to learn how to live with myself as a coward before I go back to Avalar."

"That new dragon, the one that we found in this place, he's not as weird as we really thought. He knows all about the village that Cynder and the other one are going to. According to him, it's a wonderful place. Reddlebrooke, I think he called it."

"But Lennox, aren't there only dragons there?" Lotus asked.

"Of course," he said. "That's the point. I don't want to be around the other cheetahs. Other than you."

"Did you forget about me?"

At that moment, Cynder emerged from the underbrush behind Lotus, followed closely by a grave-faced Hunter. Hunter's melded ears twitched as he evaluated Lennox and Lotus.

"I have a question for you Lennox," Hunter continued. "When did you come by this change of heart? Was it before or after you spoke to this Lateef?"

A trace of fear entered Lennox's expression, and he bared his fangs.

"I'm just curious as to what you were planning to do once you got there," said Hunter. "Dump us and leave?"

"No!" Lennox denied. "I'm supposed to stay with you guys."

Hunter advanced on Lennox, his sunset-colored eyes flaring with fire. "You're _supposed _to stay with us. You're _supposed_?" he asked, the pitch of his voice rising dangerously. "And what's Lateef _supposed _to do while you stay with us? Murder us in our sleep?"

"It's not like that!"

"Oh really? What is it like, then? Tell me what you've been plotting, boy, and then we shall return to Avalar. You're to come with us, and that's an order. I'll have you on firm lockdown until I can get some sense out of your addled brain. You will not−"

Lotus held up a paw, causing Hunter's eyes to flash in surprise. "Stop," she whispered. "Just stop. You're sounding exactly like Prowlus right now."

Hunter seemed as if he'd been struck by a punch, while Lotus turned to Lennox and took both of his paws in her own. He looked down at their joined hands and then back up into her serious face.

"Lennox, I believe every word you've said to me," she said serenely, in a cooing voice. "I just want to know if there's anything you want to tell me. Anything at all."

He shuffled in place uncomfortably, shrinking away like a trapped animal. For a single second, a light of defeat entered into his expression, and he opened his mouth to say something. Nevertheless, the instant before the words escaped his mouth, the defeat was gone, and he shook his head.

"No," he said. "I just want things to be better for us."

Hunter regained his composure and stepped forward. "Fine," he said. "I want to discuss this with your sister. Please go and… tell Lateef that you did the best you could."

While Lennox shuddered and made his way to the other side of the meadow where Lateef and Sabina were, Lotus, Hunter, and Cynder, who had been watching the whole ordeal by Hunter's side, remained where they were. Wistfully, Lotus watched Lennox run to the other side of the meadow.

"I see how Prowlus feels now," Hunter sighed. "Like all of his best warriors have abandoned him."

"I'm sorry, Hunter," said Lotus. "I didn't mean what I said. It just seemed like the old Lennox was coming back, and I didn't want you to turn him away from coming out of his shell."

Hunter looked away from Lotus. "You were right though. I wasn't being reasonable."

"How much did you hear from Lateef and Lennox? You told me you saw them talking last night."

"None of it," Hunter admitted. "I was within distance to hear them, but for some odd reason, there was no sound coming from their lips. I'd almost swear they were in some sort of glass orb, but I didn't see any sort of barrier."

"What are you both going to do now?" asked Cynder, tipping her head and showing her purple breastplates where the pendant of seashells hung. "I'm afraid to tell Lateef that he can't come with us to the village, and Sabina's uncle might be suspicious if we don't bring along this old friend of his. We've had enough problems already!"

Lotus cocked her head determinedly. "We don't have a choice about what Lennox is going to do either. Once he gets something into his head, he won't get it out. I'm going with them no matter what. The people back at Avalar won't welcome me or Lennox back, but they might take you, Hunter."

Cynder looked at Hunter, whose eyes were focused on her. "Yes, what do you say Hunter?"

"Hunter?" Lotus tried, eyeing the Hunter's vacant expression. "You there?"

"Cynder," Hunter said idly. "Where did you get that necklace from? That's Caddy's."

The necklace attracted Lotus's attention. "Those are the shells that Candace is always carrying around with her," she observed.

"Oh!" exclaimed Cynder. "I'm supposed to give this to you! She told me that I had to hand it over at the 'right time,' whatever that means. Is that now?"

For the first time that day, Hunter's lips rose into a kindly smile. "No, Cynder. Keep them with you; they look quite good on you. "

Lotus crossed her arms. "So what's your decision?"

"Oh… that," Hunter said, seeming lost in thought. "I'm going with you, aren't I?"

Without much further ado, Lotus, Hunter, and Cynder met with the three others to divulge their intentions. Hunter hadn't explained the reason behind his change in mindset, even when both Lotus and Cynder gave him a hard time. The others, however, seemed ready enough to accept the two cheetahs. Lateef appeared positively delighted, while Lennox simply avoided their stares guiltily. With nothing to hold them back, the six travelers set off on the path to the west, beyond the landslide.

Lateef and Sabina took the lead followed closely by Hunter and Lotus. Cynder hung loosely by Hunter's side, staring off into the woods. At the end of the line, Lennox's paws dragged against the ground as he moved half-heartedly.

When the old meadow was out of sight, the path became another monotonous chug through the dense underbrush. Birds of many colors chirped out alarm calls as the group entered their nesting grounds, and most animals cleared out in the presence of the enormous dragons. Occasionally, a deer or another antelope-like animal would sprint through the cover of a bush, ears folded back in fright.

Always, Sabina and Lateef seemed engaged in conversation, though Lateef did most of the talking. The great blue dragon would ask the smaller earth dragoness about some old member of the village, and Sabina would comment on his questions, often answering with a blank expression. Her silence, for the most part, did not faze Lateef but rather egg him on. He asked more about the various inhabitants of the village and talked yet more about his own experiences as a young dragon.

There came a time where the trees began to thin out, and large trunks became sparse. The path sloped upwards and curved ever onwards. At one point, Lateef stopped his conversation with Sabina and began to drag backwards. The others passed him on, narrowing their eyes at him. At the back, Lennox had finally caught up with Lateef, looking at him gratefully.

Once the others were a distance from the two, Lennox said to Lateef, "Thank goodness! I thought I wouldn't be able to speak to you alone again."

"Oh, don't worry. I was watching you, Lennox," Lateef assured him.

"Can you run me through on how this will work again?"

Lateef chuckled and nodded his head. "Like I said, there's going to be a valley with a bridge right ahead. Reddlebrooke is upstream of the river there. The dragons could easily fly over the valley, but the cheetahs will want to cross. We'll offer to cross the bridge first, and you know what happens from there."

"Will I feel any side effects?"

"I don't know," Lateef admitted, appearing genuinely concerned. "I've only practiced teleporting objects on small rocks in my old cave. They always came out whole… on the outside at least."

Lennox tried to ignore Lateef's last statement. "Ok, then. This will be the last time we can speak together again. Do you know everything you need to know about me?"

"I'm pretty sure I can pull it off, Lennox."

"Then I wish you luck with your old enemy."

"And I wish you the same with your endeavors," Lateef replied. "May your mind be ever sharp and honed enough to accomplish your _dreams_."

He winked at Lennox through his now iceberg blue eyes and quickened his pace, his wings extended out before him. Surely, Lennox followed until they had caught up to the others. By the time that he and Lateef were at the front of the line, they had almost reached the end of the hill. Lennox strode beside Hunter and Lotus, now completely confident in himself.

As the broke the edge of the hill and emerged onto a treeless bluff, Lotus was the first to release a gasp of amazement. The mud-covered heath fell immediately before them into a sheer drop of hundreds of meters.

From where they stood, the valley opened into a long expanse, with small groves of trees on either side of the hill. Directly in front of them, a narrow bridge extended from the edge of the heath to a distance so far away that it seemed that it led to the heavens. However, just in the distance, the end of the bridge met with the top of a distant ridge.

At the bottom of the valley ran a gurgling stream the color of rustic clay. Sandy banks sandwiched the sanguine water of the river, outlining the river in the bottom of the dip in the valley. Upstream, the water flowed around the ridge far beyond sight.

A mystical fog rose into the air at the end of the distant ridge, joining with the clouds and fading in the middle of the great cyan sky. In all, the valley had a divine air about it, as if a great deity had created a ridge, given the place a thought, and divided it in two with some manner of scapula. '

Taking in a deep breath of the clean air, Lateef stopped at the edge of the extraordinarily long wooden bridge leading to the other side of the mountain. "Sabina," he called to the bronze-clad dragoness. "Do you remember this place now?"

"Yes, I think I might just remember it!" she said, watching the river in its path around the ridge.

Lateef placed a claw on one of the posts at the edge of the bridge. "Luckily for us, we may simply fly over the valley. No use in this hunk of wood and hemp when you're a dragon."

"But we're not all dragons…" argued Lotus.

Cynder glided to the edge of the bridge and tentatively pawed the striated plank. "Doesn't seem the safest way to cross, anyway."

Nodding, Lotus pulled on the rope attached to the bridge at the edge of the cliff. "Surely there must be another way across."

"What if the cheetahs ride on our backs?" Sabina suggested.

A twinge of panic entered Lennox's mind. They hadn't thought about that. "I am not getting on the back of a _dragon_, no matter what you tell me," said Lennox.

Fortunately, Lotus chipped in, "I'm not a huge fan of the idea either."

"The bridge is the fastest way to Reddlebrooke," said Sabina. "I do remember that."

For some reason, Lateef seemed taken aback at Sabina's words, almost surprised. The expression on his face vanished after a short instant, though. "All vote that we should take the bridge, say 'aye,'" Lateef said.

Lennox raised his arm. "Aye."

"This is not a group issue," Hunter countered sternly, evoking a temporal glance of anger from Lateef. "Only Sabina and Cynder are the original members of this group sent to this village. They should be the ones to decide."

"Honestly, Hunter," Cynder put in. "I don't mind if we take the bridge or fly over, but I don't know how the cheetahs will follow us in time if we fly."

Sabina scrunched her nose. "Agreed. The bridge is the fastest way, after all."

"The bridge it is, then," Hunter asserted.

"I'll go first!" Lennox put in, almost too quickly. Hunter shot him a suspicious glance, while Lateef's scaly tail touched his foot warningly.

The ice-blue dragon watched the others around him. "If nobody else should volunteer to follow Lennox here, I shall enter the bridge second."

"Very well…" said Hunter. "We should be careful not to overload the planks with too much weight, lest they splinter and break. Go ahead then, and we'll follow when you've gotten a distance."

With a sudden anxiety, Lennox stepped towards the first plank, peering down at the sheer drop apprehensively. Everyone behind him was watching him expectantly, and his knees began to shake. The first plank creaked, protesting as the weight of his body was transferred onto it. Slowly, he took the bridge one plank at a time, holding onto the rope all the way.

After about ten planks, he straightened his posture and tried to put on an air of comfort. Lateef was about to step onto the bridge, and the going would be much tougher after that, at least on the bridge.

Once Lennox had reached the twentieth plank or so, Lateef self-assuredly pranced onto the crude planks, causing not so much as a single creak. Out of the corner of his eye, Lennox noticed Hunter watching them with caution and Lotus with an immense expression of worry on her face. A globule of saliva caught in Lennox's throat, and though he tried unsuccessfully to swallow it, it remained there like a sticky bead.

Lateef caught Lennox at the middle of the valley, right where the bridge reached a midpoint. Hunter and Lotus had already hopped onto the first post and were making their way across, paws on the supporting rope. Below Lennox, the clay-colored stream lapped hungrily at the edges of the banks as if waiting to swallow him whole.

"The time has come," said Lateef. "Do not be scared, and do not attempt to hang on for too long. Just think about it. In less than a few minutes, you will be in the place you want most."

With that, the great dragon lifted his paw lightly so as not to be seen. A ball of white, inconspicuous energy escaped from Lateef's claws and contacted the plank nearest to him. The central section of the bridge squealed like a dying animal before beginning to crack and crumble.

Dramatically, Lateef let out a roar of fright and scrambled to grab the nearest plank. Lennox's heart pounded as he hung to the rope. He knew it was all a put-on, but how did he know that Lateef would save him?

Lotus had already pointed them out to Hunter in the distance. Lennox could just make out her horrified face as he clung for dear life to the rope.

Only a single claw was supporting Lateef's gigantic body. With one last yelp of terror, the navy dragon slipped from the plank and somersaulted through the air towards the river. Lennox could only close his eyes and weight as the rope prepared to snap.

"Hunter, we've got to do something!" Lotus screamed, trying to break free of Hunter's hold to run to the center of the bridge.

"No! We're going to fall, too!"

She struggled against the commander's firm grip and finally managed to throw him off of her, striking him in the head with her fist. Hunter fell back with a _per-klunk_, dazed, against the nearest plank as Lotus rushed as fast as she could to the middle of the bridge. Lennox was only hanging on by a single arm, if only she could make it before he…

"Lotus!"

Yelping in pain, her leg contacted with one of the badly-nailed boards, and she toppled onto her chest only a short distance from the gap where Lennox was. She looked at him pleadingly, her face full of horror.

"I tried to save you!" she cried, reaching out with her arm to try to grasp him.

"Lotus, Lotus," repeated Lennox, his fingers slipping as he tried to grab hers. "I'm so sorry!"

With one final attempt to clasp Lotus's hand, Lennox yelled as the rope snapped sickeningly. He lost his grip and freefell, toppling through the air, far, far down into the abyss of the valley.

"NO!" Lotus threw her face down onto the wooden board and sobbed.

The bridge wasn't finished yet, though. The last two ropes were straining from the stress of the accumulated weight on the bridge, and the threads were unraveling. Without prior warning, the hemp came apart, and the bridge split cleanly in two.

Lotus hugged the plank under her and screamed while her end of the bridge fell back towards the heath where Sabina and Cynder stood, unmoving in the spontaneity of the moment. The weight was gone from her chest, and she felt lightheaded as she fell through the air with the bridge, the ground growing closer and closer.

The end of the bridge caught on the edge of a tall pine and hung there for an instant. Lotus's persistent body swung from side to side with the broken piece of bridge. She clung to the overhanging piece of wood as her piece stabilized.

The tree protested as the bridge dragged it down. Before long, the last part of the bridge slid past the pine, and the air rushed in Lotus's hair one final time before she contacted with the rock wall. Her head bounced off of the plank, and she fell to surface of the dirt floor, her vision going black.

Lennox was plummeting closer and closer to the river, which was opening its red, bloody mouth to swallow him wide. Bile rose in his throat, but he was falling to quickly to regurgitate. Above him, the bridge snapped, and he heard a scream. _What have I done?_ he asked himself.

As the monster of the river was about to swallow him up, he saw Lateef standing by the bank. Lateef raised his claw toward Lennox, and a burst of white light enveloped him once again. A tearing sound rent the air, and he dropped into a deep black void.

"Lotus! Lotus, wake up! Lotus, are you okay?"

Voices all around her, bugging her like mosquitos. Why couldn't she just lay down in peace?

"Lotus! Get up!"

Her eyelids flickered, and she saw a pair of sunset-orange eyes piercing into her own. She shook the fog from her head and propped her head up, using the rocky side of a cliff to aid her.

"I'm fine," she said. "What happened?"

There were Sabina, Cynder and Hunter, all standing around her. "You know what happened," Hunter said. "Clear your head."

She shook her head. "How long was I out?"

"Only a few minutes, Lotus," Cynder assured her.

"Where…" Then, it all came back to her. "Oh no… oh no… oh no."

"Calm down," said Hunter.

"Calm down? Lennox just fell out of the sky!" she screeched.

"Yeah, but you did, too," Sabina pointed out.

"And none of you dunderhead dragons could help him?" she asked despairingly. "You freaks! You useless piles of slimy scales!"

Cynder's eyes narrowed. "Watch it, Lotus. We're your friends," she said. "And Lennox didn't need help."

"Didn't need help? What are you talking about?"

A teak-robed figure stepped out from behind Hunter. "I've been here the whole time, Lotus. Sheesh."

"Lennox?" she asked. "Lennox, is that you?"

"Yep," said the blue-eyed cheetah. "It's me."

"But−"

"Of all the places I could have fallen," he told her, "I landed in the water. I can't tell you how lucky it is I survived. I know for a fact that Lateef didn't…"

Lotus turned back to Hunter, a weight lifting off of her chest. "You must be kidding me."

"I'm happy to say that we're not," Cynder said, looking at her through her acid-green eyes.

"Well, what are we doing now?"

Sabina peered in the direction of the river. "Why, we are going to my village, of course! And I'd like you to meet somebody very special, Lotus."

The green dragoness stepped aside and beckoned to a small dragon behind her. The dragon, fire-red with frills of deep maroon, no larger than Cynder, strutted out in front of Hunter and stopped beside Lotus's prone body.

"Nice to meet'cha," he said, grinning charmingly. "I'm Berkeley for long, but you can just call me Berk."

**A/N: Hello Readers,**

**Hello Berk, one of my long-awaited OCs!**

**I know I've never written one of these, but I've had too many PMs asking me to do so. The reason that I don't write these is because they add to the word count, and I tend to write too much when I do things like this. Why did you make me make myself do this?**

**So, what do I have to say about my writing so far? I've had a lot of time to work on this chapter, and it's the longest one yet. This might have been a very confusing, very dark chapter for a lot of you (including me). The story is getting darker and darker as I proceed, with less of the "Sparx comic relief" going on. I didn't intend for it to go that way, but my writing has been escaping from my fingers like a dog tugging on a leash. I promise it won't stay this dark and serious forever.**

**I have to shoot out a thank you to all of my wonderful reviewers as well. I especially have to address your reviews, Shadow117, since you've given me so much good input (good as in productively critical) on the chapters. To answer several of your questions (FAQs, mind you), there will be some resolution to many of the mysteries I've presented in previous chapters (especially to Avimus and Sabina).**

**For now, don't confuse your bugs and your lightning, take many showers, and stay tuned for the next chapter, which should be coming up soon. Ta!**

**P.S. Check out my poll. I'm going to draw one of my OCs every month or so in Photoshop, and you can be the one to decide who it is next! Vote honestly!**


	12. Wolf Whistle

Ashes scattered through the black void, the remnants of lost artifacts. The tattered, graying particles flowed freely through the dry air, glowing with embers fresh from a fire. Black wraiths flitted in and out of sight through the void, just visible but not reasonably discernible.

Lennox was standing, simply standing. He gasped, realizing that he could move, and looked at his own paw, which appeared distorted from the heat of the place. His robe was gone, as was his dagger… it was just him.

He began to walk aimlessly, the ashes of the void brushing the blue-gray fur on his face but never disturbing his eyes. There was nothing here but ashes and fog. Ashes… and fog.

At the edge of his vision, a hooded figure awaited. It was a cheetah, a cheetah with a white tunic and elegant, pointed ears. Lennox's pace quickened, and he tried to get closer.

"You're not doing any good, sweetie," said a smooth, feminine voice to his right. He swiveled around in surprise to see a red-coated cheetah with dull-purple eyes regarding him. She appeared to be getting closer and closer, though her legs moved not at all. When she was almost touching him, the cheetah wrapped her tail around his leg.

Lennox drew back. "Who… who are you?"

The purple eyed cheetah smirked and looked at something behind him. "Why Euphie, didn't you ever tell your son the name of your little sidekick?"

Lennox's ears pricked up at the sound of that name. He turned around slowly, but he already knew what he would see.

"M-mother?" he asked.

As he swiveled his head, the same blue-gray cheetah that he had known years ago came into view, younger than he had ever seen her. In her vitality, she cut a striking figure, her iceberg-blue eyes shining with a sweet light. She looked exactly like him.

"Mother, you're…" Lennox opened his arms to embrace her. "I missed you so much!"

As he reached to pull his arm around her, his paw slashed through her figure like fog. He yelped in surprise and stared awkwardly at his arm sticking through her chest before pulling it out of the nothingness.

"Lennox," she scolded. "I always told you to be more cautious."

Lennox looked down at the floor. "So you're still dead."

"Dead as dead can be," she said, her hands on her waist.

"Euphie," said the purple-eyed cheetah irritably. "We don't have time for the niceties. He's going to land soon."

His mother smiled. "You're right, Jasmine," she acknowledged. "Lennox, I have much to explain to you right now and little time to do it. I'd like for you to listen and not ask questions."

He tried not to protest. "Okay."

"Look all around you, my son," she said, pointing at the ashes and the flitting wraiths. "These are the Spirit Realms. When certain souls leave their bodies, we shall say, with unfinished business, they reincarnate here in full form."

"Am I dead, then?" Lennox asked. "I have unfinished business."

"Hush!" she snapped. "I told you that we don't have much time."

"You're not dead," said Jasmine. "You've just been given… special permission. Permanent, albeit."

"Yes, Lennox," his mother continued. "From now on, you will be able to access this void from your sleep, and you will see more things here as you adjust to it than you do now. Things that common mortals would only dream of."

"When that Dream Weaver sent you−"

"Dream Weaver?"

Euphie clenched her fists in anger. "Hush!"

"Dream Weavers are shape-shifters," Jasmine explained again. "There are mighty few of them in the world of the living, but they exist. The one you met, I believe, calls himself Lateef."

"Point taken," said his mother, "when the Dream Weaver transported you, he mistakenly caused some problems with your body… and your soul. Here, you stand before us in your purest form. When you wake, you will notice something different. You will have certain alteration in your body. Do nothing to change it, for it is your only and strongest connection to us."

"I've watched you on your quest to avenge dear Aspen, and I couldn't help−"

Lennox's eyes hardened. "You're going to criticize me like everyone else, aren't you?"

"No, sweetie," Jasmine interrupted. "We're going to commend you on your work. We couldn't have done better."

His eyebrows furled. "What?"

Euphie nodded at the purple-eyed cheetah. "Jasmine and I are going to guide you through this," his mother said. "We've seen your potential, and we want you to help us complete our… unfinished business."

"You need to see something Lennox," said Jasmine. "Close your eyes."

He did as she said and waited. After several minutes, his vision lightened, and he was in a forest, standing next to an old oak.

"Tell me if you recognize something here," Jasmine's voice echoed through the meadow.

Focusing on anything in the forest was hard, as a fog covered everything in sight. He clung to the trunk of the oak and sidestepped around the roots. Suddenly, a short dagger flew into the tree beside him, striking through the bark. He jumped back and regarded the scene unfolding before him.

He saw himself, cowering at the trunk of the tree, trying to shield himself from a hooded attacker. That was the strange beast that had tried to kill him, that had so nearly done so! The animal was hooded, but there was that pointed gray ear sticking out of the tear in the fabric of its head. His assassin looked up into the sky at the sight of Cynder and the other dragon flying together and took off in that direction while the memory of Lennox lay quaking against the tree.

Then, Cynder returned through the open skies with Sabina, and Lennox watched his own memory as he stood, bleeding, to his feet and took off after the two dragons. The sky went black, and the shapes began to morph again.

"Now," said Jasmine. "You should find this part interesting."

A waterfall materialized beside a dark cave. There was the Avalar River, the place where he had grown up! Three cheetahs passed him, and he recognized them as Hunter, Meadow, and… was it really her? The white tunic of his sister trailed behind her as she listened to Meadow speaking.

Meadow and Aspen bent over a purple-flowered plant as Hunter trailed deeper into the forest. The commander retrieved a hunk of stone-gray material that looked oddly like fur, while Meadow clasped his sister's shoulder excitedly and pointed at the flower.

A movement beside Lennox distracted him, and he looked around to identify the disturbance. There it was. His… no…

The hooded figure, a single gray ear sticking out of the fold, drew back an arrow fitted with a bag of black powder on the end. It lit a fuse and tensed the string.

"No… Don't do it!" Lennox yelled, but the arrow left the string, and his vision was obscured in blackness.

Lennox felt anger boiling in his stomach. "Why did you show me this?" he demanded. "Why?"

"We just want you to know the reality," said Euphie's voice.

He heard Jasmine again. "One more, sweetie, and then it'll be over."

A forest, filled with blue, filtering light emerged all around him. Oddly enough, he found that everything was becoming clearer, that he could control the clarity of the image and manipulate his position so that he could see more and more around him. Ferns and colorful fungi littered the floor, and the canopy above him was covered with needled evergreens.

A dragon with bright orange scales and electric-blue frills stood near him, gathering leaves from a dark-green plant. He appeared absorbed in his work, taking leaves one at a time. Abruptly, he lifted his head at a sound that Lennox couldn't hear and jumped behind a thick redwood.

Disturbed underbrush revealed a dragon, the purple dragon, bundling through the woods at breakneck pace. The purple dragon looked about wildly before shooting under a hollow in the nearest tree. Behind him followed a two-legged animal with a gray, pointed ear sticking out of a frayed hood.

Frantically, the orange dragon fumbled at his ankle for a leather strap. He untied the strap and bit down on a wooden object. The view darkened once again, and Lennox opened his eyes. The ashes returned.

"I do hope that explains a little more for you," said Jasmine, evaluating him with her purple eyes.

"Oh yes," said Lennox furiously. "It does."

Euphie bared her teeth. "Son, you need to find this pestilence and kill it, for your own sake and for the sake of your people. Go now and find the reason for Aspen's murder. Let it feel the pain of our suffering."

Jasmine walked up to Lennox, an intent expression showing through her red fur. "You know what to do, sweetie. We will return to you in all due time."

The two cheetahs, side-by-side, gradually grew farther away from him until they were no longer visible. The void became so dark that even the ashes were indiscernible.

Spyro could only have described hours after Avimus's little surgery on his wings as bizarre. The peculiar little orange dragon, after having doused Spyro with water, wasted no time in enveloping Spyro in his strict daily regimen of doing the strangest activities that Spyro had ever encountered, much less heard of. As soon as Spyro had woken up, Avimus insisted on leaving him at the cabin to go "running."

When Spyro had asked what "running" was, Avimus responded abruptly, "No time for that. I'm already fifteen minutes off of my daily schedule."

After a tense hour of being watched intently by Sirah and having Sparx babbling about, Avimus returned through the doorway, panting and huffing, though he was far from done. Taking a rag and wiping his face, he rushed up the stairwell, followed by the heavy paw-steps of a trilling Sirah. Spyro rose stiffly to his feet to follow Avimus up the stairs, curious to see where he had gone. The head of the fly-trap in the corner swiveled hungrily to follow Spyro's path up the stairs.

In his capacious quarters, Avimus was standing on a stool on his hind legs in the corner of the room, working the bronze machinery that Spyro had seen earlier with ardor. He held a pair of tongs in one paw and was fishing in the pot of boiling water for something.

Spyro approached Avimus as the orange dragon found what he was searching for in the water and extracted a medium-sized, brass tube from the water, straight and unblemished.

"What exactly are you doing?" asked Spyro, standing by Avimus's side.

Readjusting his position on the stool, Avimus jerked the tube about to shake the water from it without looking at Spyro. "This is my latest project I've been working on," he said.

Spyro opened his mouth to comment, but Avimus held up a claw. "Stand back."

With the pipe closed between the tongs, he twirled the smoking-hot tip through the air like a javelin, flicking scalding droplets from the meniscus. One of the drops landed on Spyro's shoulder, and he yelped and jumped backwards.

"I told you to stand back," grunted Avimus, a smile on his lips as he balanced the dried pipe and pointed the tip towards the copper box seated at the corner of the room. He touched the pipe to an open slit in the box and using the set of tongs as a lever set the pipe to fit into the mold. With a mallet, Avimus struck the end of the tongs, forcing the metal pipe through the box and sending it clattering through the invisible inside. When the pipe slid out of a chute at the bottom, Spyro noticed that it was bent into a perfect U.

Apparently satisfied with the now U-shaped tube, Avimus picked it up with spare linen and delicately placed it on one of the pegs seated in the wooden wall, where other similarly-shaped pipes hung. Sirah watched him intently, one eye fixed cleanly on the wall and the other gooey and running.

"All this metal is going to need buffing," Avimus sighed, staring at the pipes on the wall, "And I haven't even gotten the main body finished yet."

A hint of amusement flickered in Spyro's violet eyes. "Do you think that you could explain to me what in the world is going on here now that you're done?"

"I'm never done," he said, that absurd smile still on his lips, before he removed one of the older pipes from one of the pegs and held it in front of Spyro. "What you see here is an alloy called brass. I'm using it to create a musical instrument."

As was quickly becoming custom, this dragon once again succeeded in confusing Spyro to no end. "A musical instrument?"

Avimus proceeded to describe to Spyro about how music could be produced in almost any form or fashion, whether that be from the vocal cords of the throat or the rhythm of a tapped stick. The purpose of music, he explained, was to extract and evoke emotions from the listener. Different musical styles lay out the foundations for different feelings.

He intended the object that he was working on to be usable by dragons in particular to emit a variety of tones or pitches. With multiple musicians, or "players," as he called them, the instruments could be used to form harmonies and blending chords.

Spyro's eyes glazed as Avimus lectured him on, and when he had finished, Spyro felt no more informed than he had before. "I don't understand, Avimus…"

The dragon narrowed his eyes and placed the tube back onto the peg. "What is there not to understand?"

"I don't see exactly what you're trying to do here."

"I'm trying to make music!" Avimus countered, seeming somewhat offended. "There's not much more to it."

Spyro shook his head. "But who's here to listen to it? You said yourself that there's nobody around here. How can music do all that where there's nobody to hear it?"

The smile vanished from Avimus's features, and he left Spyro's side to make his way down the stairs, clunking on each platform while he was pursued closely by the cat-beast. A loud ruckus of banging utilities and pots sounded below the floor as Sparx hovered into the room. The clattering stopped for a moment, just before the breaking of glass followed by a groan of exasperation was heard from downstairs.

"Man," Sparx said to Spyro. "You seen anything like this before?"

Spyro examined his repaired wings, testing them by extending and retracting the membranes. "Nope," he muttered distractedly. "Where have you been, anyway?"

"Me? Why, I've been keeping an eye out for that dog thing. You never know when it might jump up on us while we're on unawares!"

The sound of a sizzling fire echoed through the end of the stairwell, accompanied by a low humming. Spyro chuckled halfheartedly at Sparx and descended the stairwell back into the lower level, where the clutter of herbs, vials, and assorted books still hindered free movement.

The noise, Spyro soon discovered, was that of Avimus tossing various ingredients into a moderately-sized cauldron in an attempt to make some sort of soup. The orangish-colored contents of the cauldron seemed to have a thick consistency like glue or paste. The curling forks of steam that rose from the pot smelled pungent and sharp, not quite unpleasant but definitely not mouth-watering. Spyro curled his nose at the odor, eliciting a glare from Avimus.

After a short but mostly silent wait, Avimus doled the smoking contents of the cauldron into two shallow, wooden bowls. He passed one bowl to Spyro and lay by the open window, tail curling around his body. Spyro tentatively followed suit and looked down at the orange soup.

"Pumpkin and squash," said Avimus, answering his unspoken question. "Don't tell me you don't like it until you try it."

While Avimus gazed at him expectantly, Spyro arched his head and dipped his serpentine tongue into the mushy soup. A sweet, tangy flavor tickled the buds on his tongue for a moment, and he gulped a mouthful of the orange paste forcefully, trying his best to seem polite. Even so, the mealy consistency of the squash and the musty aftertaste of the pumpkin nearly created a gagging reflex in his throat, one that he failed this time to conceal.

Avimus left his own bowl untouched and instead gazed out the window. "Sometimes, appreciation takes time," he told Spyro in his dreamy, rasping voice.

"Yeah," Spyro replied, taking in another mouthful of the soup exclusively out of the gnawing pain in his stomach.

"I'd imagine that you're going to stay the night with me, since it is darkening outside," Avimus said dryly, his earth-green eyes glittering.

"I suppose I might as well," Spyro admitted through a pasty mouthful of squash, "but I can't afford to make Terrador or Volteer wait. I must depart tomorrow."

"That wolf is still out there. Something is after you for some reason or another, Spyro."

He tried to swallow the paste in his mouth, but the starchy globules adhered to the back of his throat. The vegetable mush was filling him up much as water. He'd never eaten many vegetables before; the majority of his diet had consisted of insects and meaty rodents and after that, large mammals. He found himself yearning for a satiating slab of meat.

Sadly, Spyro fretted at the still-brimming serving of orange glop. "One way or another," Spyro said, pausing as he finally swallowed the portion, "I've got to leave tomorrow. Running has been all that I've done for the past two days; it's high time that I took some action."

"If you've covered the distance from here to Warfang in two days," Avimus argued, "you could easily take the next leg in a single day. Fortunately for you, the sea rests but about thirty leagues as the crow flies from here, the same distance as that to Warfang. With the desert out of your way and your wings repaired, you will journey that thirty leagues much faster."

Spyro blinked, unsure of Avimus's intentions. "All the more motivation for me to leave as soon as possible."

"But the wolf−"

"No," Spyro interrupted, pushing the bowl aside and standing to his feet. "I'm not letting anything else get in my way. Do you realize how I feel right now?"

Avimus glanced up at him, a sneer building on his snout.

"I feel like I've done nothing since I left the Mountain of Malefor. I've felt like it's all been a waste from the moment Warfang sank through the ground and from the moment I let Cynder go without a fight. I'm going to feel that way until I start acting my part and being who I'm meant to be."

A wind crept through the window frame, rattling the shutters and emphasizing the effect. Spyro let out a deep breath of air and bowed his head. "You can wait all your life for something, or you can go out and do it," he said finally, backing down.

The corner of Avimus's lip twitched, and he opened his mouth to say something. Changing his mind, he snapped his jaw shut, grabbed the two uneaten bowls of soup, and tossed them into the cauldron, rendering a wave of squash and pumpkin out of the cauldron with the force of the impact. The cauldron tipped over, causing the contents to gush forth in an orange waterfall, but Avimus ignored the mess.

The orange dragon trotted heavily to one of the side tables and snatched a brilliant blue quill from one of the tables, then turned to leave by the stairwell but stopped in his steps before he got there.

"I hope you enjoyed this dinner," he whispered, his upper lip quavering. "It's all I have to offer but I make the best of things and you can go at the first light of dawn. There's a mat upstairs for you to sleep on. I'll be on the balcony if you need me."

He spoke with such a rapid-fire of his tongue that Spyro struggled to comprehend. Avimus turned to sprint up the stairs again but stopped short one more time. With an outstretched claw, he untied the wooden whistle tied around his ankle and tossed it at Spyro, narrowly missing his golden horn and instead clipping the edge of a vial occupied by a bubbling-black liquid. The whistle fell at Spyro's feet as the vial shattered on the floor, dying the panels black.

"Take the whistle," Avimus said in a sneering tone of voice before he rushed up the stairs, still talking. "You have more need of it than I, and there's sufficient expendable worthless garbage lying around here to make another."

Motionless, Spyro gaped up at the open stairwell where Avimus had disappeared. Unwittingly, Sparx chose that moment to enter through the frame of the window, a golden ball of light in the darkening skies.

Sparx crossed his arms at the spilled liquids and broken glass dispersed along the tables. "Did I miss something?"

The ducts were strangling him, tightening around his legs like anacondas and sucking the life out of his soul. He struggled against the falling sensation, flailing his arms and legs about in a desperate hope to catch something, to grab onto the last, gnarly branch.

Blackness dissolved in a whirlwind of watery waves as the world came back to him in an explosion of grit and dust, to be more precise, sand. Lennox pushed himself to his knees, curling his long furry tail upwards to balance. The desert around him appeared surreal in the final hours of the day, the sun reflecting a purple brilliance through the crystalline flakes of sand. Directly in front of where his kneecaps sank into the desert sands, grain turned to soil where in the boundary erupted an evergreen forest, a filtering blue light escaping from the furry trees.

A grating wind pushed grit into Lennox's eyes, so he lifted his wrists to his apertures to clear the painful stinging. He got to his feet, the sand still warm from the searing heat of the day. He stretched his legs and arms, which felt numb, before blinking and looking down to observe his body.

Nothing was wrong, thank goodness. That Dream Weaver really had known his stuff. Lennox squinted down at his dappled, blue-gray coat, noting with discontent that he had left behind his teak robe and the dagger when Lateef had transferred him. He was about to take off for the forest for the place that he'd seen in the memory when something on his chest made him stop short.

A blaring, red mark distinguished itself on Lennox's chest, a place where the fur had simply transformed from typical, pure belly-white to violent red. The soft fur wasn't matted or wet… just red. Upon closer inspection, the mark appeared to be arranged in flowing lines, lines that created a single symbol or rune.

Befuddled, Lennox scratched at the red mark, trying to remove it. _You're not doing any good, sweetie_.

Lennox jumped at the familiar voice and frantically scanned from side to side to find the source. His eyes fixed upon the spectral figure of Jasmine, the cheetah from the void.

"What are you doing here?" Lennox asked aloud.

The cheetah laughed, her purple eyes twinkling, and the sound echoed around him as if he were underwater. _Like Euphie told you, you should have expected to see a change in your body, and you should not have done anything to try to remove it. Luckily for you, these brands aren't so easy to take off._

He stopped attempting to scratch at the mark and instead walked towards Jasmine, who began to float away as if she were a ghost. "Where's my mother?" he asked, hopeful.

_Not to worry, sweetie, _said Jasmine. _Euphie's still in the void. For now, only I may visit you in your waking hours, but you can always return to the void when you become more experienced in… walking._

She slid in beside him and pointed towards the forest. _That's where you should be going, you know. The purple dragon is in there. You saw him. _

"I don't have anything on me, though. Lateef took everything I had."

_Fool! _Jasmine scolded him. _What do you think you're going to do to get the purple dragon's help? Bash him on the head with a club? Remember, you are seeking the aid of a being powerful enough to defeat the being that defeated you. Does that make sense?_

"What else could I do? Ask him politely?"

Jasmine tapped her head impatiently and ushered Lennox along to the boundary of the forest. _I'd thought Euphie's son would have had brains enough to conceive that. Yes, diplomacy is essential when you want to satisfy your desires. _

She beckoned, the ferns of the crisp forest enveloping her non-corporeal visage. _Come, oh intrepid warrior. _

The ground under Lennox's feet turned to moist, mossy soil, an exceedingly pliant layer of silt. The evergreen trees seemed welcoming, ever vivid, in contrast to the deciduous forest he had left behind. He followed the red-furred, translucent form of Jasmine as she guided him through the spore-laden ferns. Before he knew it, the underbrush opened into a meadow, and the sound of rushing water assailed his ears.

He barely had time to note the two-floor cabin that stood atop the gurgling waterfall before the discordant twang of rancorous snarling sounded beside him.

Just ahead of Spyro, the wind eddied in from the open balcony where Avimus lay. The dragon was bent over a torn piece of parchment illuminated by the moon, scribbling thoughtfully with a blue quill. Every once in a while, he would pause over his work and gently bite the end of the quill.

Closing his eyes, Spyro tried to nuzzle his purple head into the prickly mat on which he was splayed as Sparx snored beside him. His stomach churned with discomfort, and he found himself craving something at least palatable. He snorted and rolled onto his side, placing a paw over his heart.

This journey was slogging on much more slowly than he ever could have imagined, and somehow, he couldn't see all of the dragons of Warfang trekking across the open desert. Many of the dragons who had endured the war were the frail elders that Ignitus had ordered refuge in the depths of the caves.

Spyro scratched his snout with a protracted claw. For the first time in a long while, thoughts streamed through his head coherently. He could understand why Avimus had settled in this place, without all the background ruckus to muddle his thoughts.

The noise of something heavy colliding with the floor jogged Spyro from his partial sleep, and his eyes blinked open at the flash of orange scales. The concerned face of Avimus dropped into focus as the orange dragon hopped from the balcony to land on the floor.

"Spyro!" he called imperatively. "I don't know what, but something's going on outside. I think I heard fighting!"

Spyro's eyes drooped groggily. "Are you sure that you didn't hear animals?"

"It's possible, but I've never heard anything like this before."

Once at the balcony, Spyro grappled onto the railing and leaned over the portcullis, scanning the dark forest beyond the waterfall. At first, only the sound of cicadas permeated the solid barrier of the night, but a splashing near the base of the pool under the waterfall soon caught his attention. One dark shape was backing away from another advancing one.

"The whistle!" Avimus gasped, tugging at Spyro's leg. "Where is it?"

"I… I left it downstairs," said Spyro guiltily, still leaning over the deck. "I left it where you threw it."

Avimus's mouth gaped open in disbelief. "You did… what?"

"Look, you go find the whistle. I'm going down there."

"It's far too dark to scout out anything on the floor, for goodness sake!" Avimus protested, his face contorted in fear. "You'll be torn to pieces before I even lay eyes on it!"

"You've never seen me in battle," Spyro denied, leaping from the balcony and spreading his wings before him to hover. He maneuvered sideways to turn his head back to Avimus. "The time for running and searching through the dark is over."

With that, he dipped his head and tipped his wings to the open sky. The glittering, filtering blue light of the forest dispelled in his shadow, and the wind buffeted the layering of his thick, red membranes. The incisive chilled air soaked into his scales, sending a rush of invigorating waves through his backbone. He soared over the spur of the cataract and curled his tail to provide resistance, landing silently near the pond's edge.

Two animals splashed in the dark pond water, one vested in a torn brown hood and the other bare. One stalked the other with the smooth eagerness of a hound while the target, unarmed, quavered. The hooded figure extended a scintillating dagger before himself, the pommel glittering with emerald light. Spyro narrowed his eyes and stepped forth into the water. Any enemy of this beast was a friend of his.

Energy concentrated in Spyro's chest, and he opened his mouth to fire an icy projectile at the attacking animal. The attack narrowly missed, instead grazing the side of the beast's hood and creating a mass of slush near the cheetah's legs. The animal started in surprise, turning to notice Spyro and so breaking contact with the other animal, a cheetah. The cheetah flailed through the water in a desperate attempt to further himself from the distracted beast.

Spyro raised his upper lip and whipped his tail, one of his favorite means of unbalancing an attacker and quickly taking the offensive, in the direction of the beast. It darted to the side and slung the dagger like a throwing knife. Reacting rapidly, Spyro surrounded himself in a shield of the surrounding rocky outcrop, the soil forming a dense, nigh impenetrable layer before him.

His attacker snarled again but retreated further out of the pool. The cheetah, soaked to the bone, rushed through the clear water towards Spyro, hands in the air.

"Th-thank you," gasped the cheetah, shaking the water from his fur.

"Grab that dagger… erm-"

"Lennox," the cheetah finished for him.

Wings extending menacingly, Spyro began to plod through the water toward the beast. "I should be able to hold this thing off until you find the dagger," he called back to Lennox. "Hurry!"

The hooded figure was withdrawing a wedged scimitar from the depths of his cloak. Both stopped in mid-step so that only the crashing of the waterfall above Avimus's cabin penetrated the woods, but the moment lasted only briefly before everything began.

Spyro lunged at the gray-eared beast in the spirit of a berserker, horns aligned to collide with the animal's exposed chest. The sharpened tips narrowly missed the beast's hip, opening room for it to strike him with the blade. The flat slapped Spyro's rump with the smacking vibration of metal on scales.

Cursing himself mentally for the clumsy move, Spyro charged for a blast of energy, feeling the customary pulsing throb in his throat. The beast again slashed the scimitar towards Spyro repeatedly, nearly colliding with his head several times. Spyro's mouth opened towards the beast and released a crackling bolt of electricity. The clearing flashed as if lightning had struck, the energy in the blast charring the animal and causing it to corkscrew backwards. The beast's head crashed against the bark of a nearby pine, ripping the hood from the cloak.

The wolfish head was shaped gracefully. A thick coat of black-tipped gray fur covered the wolf's cheeks in the shape of an oval, the long snout protruding from its face. Both tufted ears with extending white hairs were pulled back in aggression.

The eyes of the wolf burned with a glowing green fire, the inner pupils illuminated by the sickly flame. The beast recovered earlier than Spyro had anticipated and rolled to its feet, propelling its body with the inertia. Spyro dodged around the scimitar, which clipped his tail, before firing another blast of electricity. The energy struck a nearby bush, setting it aflame.

Shouting zealously, Spyro dashed at the wolf again, this time smashing into its chest. The wolf yelped and flipped backwards, landing prostrate in the pond-water. Before it could rise again, Spyro was ready. An icy wind seeped through Spyro's jaw, encasing the wolf from the body down. It struggled against the freezing solid barrier, but the brittle crystal held stubbornly.

_Now's your chance. Destroy the pestilence or forever live in the regret that you failed your sister_.

Lennox clutched the emerald dagger that had so nearly taken his life two times. The pommel glittered with a golden light, the blade inlaid with a circular symbol.

The frigid water lapped hungrily at his fur, soaking into the hairs and weighing him down. He climbed onto the solid sheet of ice and treaded lightly over the mist-emitting crystal. The despicable wolf's head poked from the ice like a convict's from the gallows.

The purple dragon backed from the ice. "Lennox," he said, his tone revealing the degree of energy that the fight had cost him. "Everything is under control. You can relax."

_Do it, Lennox_, Jasmine whispered in his ear. _You've waited for this moment. _

**A/N: Cutting to matters of business, I've avoided fighting scenes for so long now that this probably comes as a great relief. Like Spyro said, the time for running away from the meat of the matter is over and done with.**

**And yes, I left you hanging on a point of decision-making. Lennox, as you have come to notice, doesn't have the easiest time in life. Sure, he's made some bad choices, but he never seems to succeed at anything. You might call it destined for failure. **

**The chapters that are coming up will be published rapid-fire! I've had so much time on my hands to do writing that I'm actually thinking about finishing the book at 25 chapters by the end of May. This next chapter is one that I've been waiting for, since it introduces thousands of OCs that everyone will really be able to relate to (I know that Avimus is just plain wierd, but he'll get more development in other books. For now, you'll find, he's only going to be playing a minute role.). **

**This concludes Part 1. Enter Part 2 in the following chapters for a new turn in the telling of this story. Otherwise, happy end of April! Life's flying so fast (sniffle). **


	13. A Red Mistake

**And now we come to Part II! Valiant reader, take some more time out of your day to learn about Reddlebrooke, the source of all of your questions and concerns about my fic. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Part II of II: Settling Away**

"Honestly, everything's fine!"

"Then why won't you talk to me for a measly two seconds?" Lotus growled at Lennox, her eyebrows furrowed.

Sabina's brother, that little fire dragon named Berk, tossed his head back at Lotus, a playful light in his maroon eyes. "Sibling rivalry, huh?"

Lennox snorted and ran ahead, his teak cloak flapping around him in a wave, while Berk directed himself closer to the two dragonesses with whom he had been chatting. A sense of desolation crept in on Lotus, and she stopped short as the others rounded the corner of the rocky face leading to the village.

The river behind her gurgled, mocking her as she noted the broken bridge in the distance, the loose planks hanging from the rope like ladder rungs. Groaning, she leaned against the face of the rock and placed her paws over her knees. She thought that she would be relieved to get out of the thick woods, but fate had apparently decided against her happiness. A sigh escaped from her lips, and she sank into a heap against the hard stone.

Why was Lennox angry with her? She's only asked him a couple of questions, so what reason did he have to chew her head off? What had happened to Lateef didn't add up. It was like he'd just disappeared from the face of the earth. If he'd died, his body would have to be somewhere, and without evidence, there was no certainty that he'd really bit the dust. _Maybe Lennox is just in shock from seeing death_, she decided.

After a brief, solitary rest, Lotus was about to run around the side of the rock when the padding of light feet on the grass alerted her to a presence. _Lennox_, she thought wishfully, _he's come back to apologize_. She caught the flick of a gray tail from the corner of her vision and nodded her head, affirming herself.

She strolled along the corner of the rock to meet him when the full figure came into view and her jaw dropped open. Whatever was in front of her most certainly was not Lennox.

The animal had the head and body of a gray wolf standing on its hind legs. Yellow eyes shined out of a matted, thick-furred face. Dark black rings lined the wolf's eyes, the snout extending gracefully and ending in a watery, black nose. Lustrous buttons on a blue military suit with a miniature insignia shined into her own green eyes, blinding her. The wolf seemed busy cleaning the grimy specks from a brown-leather tricorne and didn't notice her. It wiped the last of the debris from the hat and placed the item on its head. Lotus was about to stalk quietly the other way when the wolf raised its head.

The animal opened its mouth dumbly in the same way that Lotus had, revealing a line of razor-sharp teeth. "What in the name of sanity?" the wolf uttered in a haughty accent.

Lotus narrowed her eyes and stopped in her tracks. "Who… who are you?"

The wolf mouthed emptily for a moment but straightened himself out almost immediately. His eyes glinted as if he'd understood something. "I'd like to say that I'm pleased to encounter one such as yourself… you are?"

"Lotus," she said, clasping the rock.

"But I'm not," the wolf finished. That said, he unsheathed thin-bladed rapier from a sheath on the left side of his hip.

He smirked at her pompously and raised the sword. "Brigadier Wesleyan," he introduced himself in his refined accent. "Now, at your blade!"

Terrified, Lotus shook her head. Her legs were tied to the spot as if with invisible rope.

"Come now," he urged impatiently, gesturing with the rapier. "I refuse to fight an unarmed warrior, an unarmed young damsel at that."

Shaking, she removed Gaea from the sheath at her side, the green metal flashing as the falchion slid out. Wesleyan's eyes bulged at the sight of the sword.

"That is one charming little knife," he said, grinning wolfishly. "But do you know how to use it?"

There was barely time to react as Wesleyan lunged at her with the sword. She parried his blow, holding Gaea awkwardly with two paws. The rapier whipped through the air at her so quickly that the silvery metal was only a flash in the air. Metal clashed on metal three more times as the wolf cornered her against the rock.

A sneer crossed through Wesleyan's lips as he locked Gaea against the hilt of his rapier, trapping her with the sharpened end of her own blade inches from her face. "You'd think that petty little Enric would send for stronger reinforcements, not footcheetahs as the likes of you."

Lotus strained against Wesleyan's strength as he pushed Gaea closer and closer to her vulnerable nose, the ease in his eyes betraying the fact that he was toying with her. When Gaea was only millimeters from touching her face, she took the only option remaining to her. With a heave, she lifted her hind-foot from the edge of the rock and kicked as hard as she could at the spot right between Wesleyan's legs.

The wolf howled at the sky in agony, dropping the rapier at her feet. In a stroke of bad luck, Gaea ricocheted off of the stone wall as the heavy force of the rapier was unapplied in a single movement. The falchion slipped from Lotus's clumsy hands and landed next to the rapier.

She dived for her sword as Wesleyan made a grab for the hilt. She kicked him in the face, knocking him backwards, as she grabbed ahold of the green sword.

"You fight like a girl," Wesleyan panted, getting a hold on himself and picking up the rapier.

Lotus felt the confidence building inside of her. "That's because I am one."

The wolf lowered his sword. "I have a proposition for you," he said, his eyes narrowed in condescension. "You hand me over that dainty little sword of yours and I let you go free."

"Never!"

Wesleyan rolled his eyes. "I guess I'll just have to kill you then."

"And _I _guess that you'll have to seriously reconsider what kind of people you threaten, scum!"

The crimson form of a dragon glided around the edge of the great stone. A great wave of fire enveloped Wesleyan as Berk landed in front of Lotus, wings extended before him. The wolf yelped and rolled, extinguishing the fire. With an alarmed glance at Berk, he stumbled to his feet and shot off, clutching the tricorne on his head to keep it from flying off.

"I'll be back, Lotus!" he called as he sprinted away. Somehow, his words didn't seem all that intimidating. "You still owe me that sword of yours!"

With that, the wolf ducked through an unseen opening in the face of the mountain, bushy tail disappearing behind him. Lotus sheathed the green falchion while Berk bowed his head understandingly.

"You okay?" Berk asked, his red eyes glimmering.

Dazed, Lotus nodded. "It's good thing you chose the right time to show up."

"I tend to do that," he laughed.

She wiped a clump of gray hair from her shoulders, but as it fell to the floor, a thought came to her mind. After stooping down to pick the clump back up, she pocketed it in her white tunic. Berk watched her intently.

"Can you tell me what that wolf was doing here?" she asked.

"I… well, it's complicated. That wolf… or I guess those wolves… call themselves the Canians."

"The Canians?" Lotus repeated, rolling the word off of the tip of her tongue.

"Uncle can explain it a little better to all of you at once," said Berk, setting off for the path around the mountain. "C'mon, the others are missing us."

* * *

Cynder tapped Sabina on the shoulder, her silvery claw creating a tinkling sound against the bronze armor. "Hey, where's your brother?"

"I don't know," Sabina shrugged, stopping in her tracks and scanning the grass. "We're almost home, I think, so maybe he took off ahead of us."

She ran her black paws through the fibrous grass, suddenly realizing that they had managed to walk faster than either of the two cheetahs coming around the rock behind them. "Oh well," she muttered, cutting off as she strolled through a clump of tall grass. The hillock in front of them widened out, hiding the horizon and the area beyond to the deep sky. At the end of the hill, the Earth dropped off into a ravine, and anything beyond that point was invisible to any on land.

"Sabina," Cynder picked up. "I've been meaning to ask you about Berk. What makes him… err, why is he so… young?"

"What do you mean?"

Cynder closed her eyes and thought for a moment. "It's just that I thought Spyro and I were the last of our generation. I believe you told me that your brother was older than you−"

A cloud of concern enveloped Sabina's expression. "Did I?"

"−so I didn't think anything about it. Is he the only one?"

Sabina's muscles tensed, and her lips pursed as if holding something back. A small tear formed on her narrow green snout. "I don't remember, I'm sorry… I just don't remember."

The earth dragoness halted in her footsteps and stretched her forearm out to wipe her eyes. Bashfully, Cynder looked away, unsure of what to say.

The sound of pleasant chatting and the slick sloshing of the grass alerted Cynder to the presence of movement behind her. Berk's cheerful grin met her eyes as the red dragon approached, followed closely by the cheetah in the white tunic, Lotus.

"Stopped so soon, ladies?" Berk asked, tipping his head to Sabina. "You know we're only a foxtrot away from the village."

Cynder crossed her eyes in disbelief. "What?"

The cheetah stalked beside Berk, fumbling excitedly for something in her pocket. "Hey, have you seen Hunter?" she asked, withdrawing a gray object from the depths of her tunic.

"He's right here," a voice answered. The cheetah commander had finally cut the distance between the dragoness, Lennox taking the rear.

"Hunter!" Lotus called enthusiastically. "You'll never guess what I found!"

She held out a paw, revealing a clump of solid, coarse gray hair. Taken aback, Hunter exhaled, craning his head to examine the hair more closely and holding out a sunset-orange paw. He began to dig through his own robes, pulling out three identical clusters of gray fur.

"Where was it?" Hunter demanded, placing the fourth clump of fur next to the other three.

Lotus smiled, her face lighting up in pride. "I got it right from the source."

"And why do you look so happy?" Lennox grunted, shouldering Lotus aside and muttering to himself under his breath. "Aspen's murderer's a laughing matter now, I see."

That comment received a glare from Hunter, who was still scrutinizing the furs. "This one's much cleaner than the others that we got from Avalar," Hunter observed, pressing the hairs together with his finger. "These older ones are covered in grease…"

Berk waved his red tail to catch their attention. "Those are all from Canians. They shed like dogs."

The wind traveling from the edge of the ravine agitated the grass at Cynder's feet. "Canians? What are they?"

"All you need to know," Berk replied matter-of-factly, "is that the Canians are your enemy. They hate us and we hate them."

"Did you know about this, Sabina?" Cynder asked the green dragoness, who was staring, anesthetized, at the ground. Berk gave Cynder a funny expression, as if she had said something either out-of-tune or plain incorrect.

"I… I do not remember," Sabina stuttered, not raising her head.

"So they've got an army?" Lotus broken in, meeting Hunter's eyes. "That one called himself 'brigadier.'"

As if for effect, somewhere far away, the mellow beating of a bass drum echoed through the valley, shaking the firm ground underfoot. Everyone except for Berk grew unsettled, shifting nervously. The deep tone of the drums sounded too much like those of the orcs and the trolls that they had only too recently exterminated.

A heavy wind blasted through the ravine again, pushing the hood off of Hunter's head. "You're under attack…" he surmised, grasping a jagged hilt underneath his cape.

"No," said Berk. "They pound those drums every day at noon to remind us that they're there."

Even so, the fire dragon turned his head from the others and ushered the group on. "You know I told you the town's right over the ravine. Uncle'll want to see you, Cyn."

Cynder trotted up to match step with Berk as the others filed in behind them, Lotus whispering intently to Hunter and Lennox hanging sulkily behind. Another thick batch of winds released their fury as they neared the edge of the ravine. "Cyn?" she repeated to the red dragon. "Nobody's ever called me Cyn."

"That's not how you abbreviate your name, then?" Berk asked, tilting his head. "How do you say it?"

"It's just Cynder," she said, perplexed. "I mean, you can call me Cyn if you'd like."

"That's strange."

Cynder whipped her head back, spikes flashing. "What's strange?"

"Doesn't everyone have two names, a long and a short?"

A short silence reigned as Cynder thought back to the dragons of Warfang. She hadn't met anybody, let along known anybody, in the conscious month or so of her life after the return of Malefor. "Not that I know of."

"Oh, well we abbreviate names here at Reddlebrooke," Berk chattered cheerfully. "Everybody but the Mavens has a formal name and a casual name, except for Darby, of course, because his is already so short and Darb doesn't have that much of a ring to it. There's Lee, Tel, and Hal… then Zeke, Win, and Kip."

Cynder narrowed her eyes as the ravine began disappeared before them, opening into a larger valley. "Those dragons, they're not from the same brood as we are, are they? All the eggs were destroyed on the Night of the Raid."

Berk paused and thought for a moment. "Not every mother wants to send her eggs off to be guarded by some four strangers. You'll find that Reddlebrooke does things a bit differently than Warfang."

A twinge of curiosity tweaked Berk's lips. "So, what sort of attacks are you capable of, Cynder?"

"Well…" she paused, not wanting to seem like she was boasting. "I've always been able to cloak myself in wind and shadow−"

"Wind? But I thought that only−"

Berk's last words were drowned out as the edge of the ravine vanished so quickly under Cynder that she nearly tripped down the incline, though the surprise caused her to fall on her front legs. Cursing her clumsiness for having been so distracted, she pulled herself to her feet and was about to brush her black scales off self-consciously when the scene before her stopped her short.

The higher area where they were standing circled around the lower land so that the encompassed territory formed the shape of a keyhole. At the distant end, the larger end, a ring of tall mountains surrounded an enormous, submerged expanse of water. The grassy foliage of the mountains reflected a verdant layer over the shimmering lake.

Separating the elongated portion of the keyhole, a smoothly flowing river donated its clear contents to the crater-lake. The light penetrated the fluid waters of the river that the rusty-red clay bottom of the bed shined clearly even from far away. The banks embraced the watery features in the shape of an enormous tadpole, the depositing tail of the river broadening at the body of lake.

A short, arched bridge formed a path across the stone-encumbered banks of the stream. From either side of the bridge, the path spiraled outwards into a spider-web network of adobe houses. The path seemed to end a little ways from the lake at a circular plaza surrounded by somewhat taller buildings. Glimmering colors revealed the presence of the faraway forms of dragons lingering along the plaza.

The movement of red- and blue-furred bodies tore Cynder from the picturesque view. The three cheetahs stopped short of the village, Hunter and Lotus nearly making the same mistake as Cynder had in their deep conversation.

"Welcome to my home," announced Berk proudly, beaming. "It may not seem like much, but I've never known anywhere quite like it."

"It's… it's beautiful," Cynder stuttered, taken aback. A different kind of astonishment, not the pleasant kind that Berk saw in her acid-green eyes, was creeping through her body. She'd never thought before about what she would do when she got to the village. Now that they had finally arrived, the weight of the situation that Terrador had thrust upon her finally settled onto her violet chest. _How am I to convince these dragons to move from such a place?_

The party descended the hill into the grassy bowl of the land, the dragons not taking off and flying for respect of the grounded cheetahs. They soon reached the adobe houses covered in semi-circular cup-shaped shingles. Dark river-stones bordered the gravel path to the bridge and further across, the great plaza.

When they had almost reached the bridge, Cynder peaked into one of the open-windowed adobe houses. Collections of what appeared to be feather-down lined the corners of the clay walls along with strewn articles of armor, cloth, and sticks.

An emphatic call rang from the direction of the bridge, distracting Cynder from the house, and something brightly colored zipped in a flash towards Berk. The streak of yellow barreled into the red dragon, smashing him into the ground. Berk wrangled with the shape, an electric dragon, for a moment before managing to squirm free.

"Haven't we been over this before?" Berk spat, clearing his mouth of dirt. "You don't have to knock the wind out of me every time you see me."

The dragon, indigo eyes gleaming innocently, groomed his purple frills with a scaly forearm. "That wouldn't be any fun though, would it?" he snickered, finally noticing Cynder, Sabina, and the cheetahs around the corner of the building. His eyes flicked from Cynder back to Berk. "Did you finish your little task?"

"Yeah, and I've got news for the Raiders when we return."

"You got company?"

Berk straightened himself out and beckoned to the others. "Yeah, they're from Warfang."

"Warfang?" The dragon squinted at Cynder, then at the others. "Is that… Sabina?"

The dragoness nodded, bowing her head to him. "By Zesha, Master Enric's going to be glad to see you," he continued on, indicating the cheetahs with his tail. "And what are those? Are they some sort of Canian? Did you take prisoners? Can I guard them?"

Lennox snarled at the cheerful young dragon and crossed his arms. "I'd like to see you try to move within an inch of me, dragon."

"Tune it down," Berk said warningly to his companion, "these aren't prisoners. They're cheetahs from the Valley of Avalar, not Canians."

The dragon, however, seemed not to be listening and had instead approached Cynder. "Hey, I'm Zeke," he said, his snout turned up in a smile. "Who're you?"

"Nice to meet you, Zeke," she replied. "It's Cynder."

"Cynder? Isn't that the gigantic beast that would tear your heart out as soon as look at you? The one that murdered all those Warfangers? Why would your parents name you that?"

"You wouldn't happen to know where this 'Enric' is, would you?" Hunter interrupted before Zeke could spout any further, giving Cynder an uncomfortable glance. "Some of us would like to speak with him."

If the person defending her had not been Hunter, Cynder might have been angry at the cheetah's abrupt cut-off of the electric dragon. It surprised her that she was infamous even in such a remote place as this village, though her reign must have lasted so many years and been so violent that no dragon would forget it. A wave, not of self-pity but of frustration at her given identity, swept through her veins.

Unperturbed, the upbeat Zeke bounced back towards Berk. "Oh, about Master Enric, he couldn't find you, so he sent me to search for you. We're going to battle against those mangy Canians to give them a good knock-up."

Berk's face contorted into an expression of horror. "Going into battle? He's looking for me?"

"Why do you have that strange look on your face?" Cynder asked, twitching her head in confusion.

"I'm not supposed to go outside of the boundaries of Reddlebrooke without an adult. Uncle's really strict about his rules, but I thought I might be able to… go on a little mission and come back before anything major happened," replied Berk in a shaky voice. "And he said that the next time we went to battle, he would take me and fight beside me… it would be my first battle."

Berk turned to the small yellow dragon with trepidation. "Zeke, Uncle didn't sound angry, did he?"

"Well…" Zeke hesitated and scratched at the floor. "Yeah, actually, he sounded infuriated."

"Crap."

* * *

Cynder huffed in exhaustion, expelling a breath of cool air. Zeke was setting a stellar pace through the dusky grass as his fiery partner trudged along. The young dragon's boundless energy took Cynder's breath away and certainly that of her companions.

Berk had suggested that they track around the main path to avoid the Reddlebrooke sentries, posted to notify the guards in the case of strange behavior. A short way from the bridge, the road forked into two trails, one curving towards the lake and the other towards the circular plaza surrounded by a line of quaint little houses. The dwellings encircled the plaza such that there were no breaks. A particularly grand adobe house obstructed the line of sight to the center of the plaza. Berk halted at the back of the largest house and motioned for the others to close in.

"We're sidetracking through the Mavens' quarters," Berk whispered to Cynder, then turned to the cheetahs. "You three had better stick to us like cats on mice, no pun intended. People are going to mistake you for Canians like Zeke did, but they might not all be as docile as Zeke."

"I am not docile!" protested Zeke, hopping onto the back of the porch and clunking over the stone floor, tail smacking the floor. "I'm Ezekiel Wolfsbane, killer of Canians!"

"Shhh, not so loud," Berk hushed Zeke, taking his own steps up carefully. "If Enric sees us come into the Gazebo, we'll be fried like lava slugs."

The group's footsteps echoed through the spacious hallway in the house. The three cats' ears pricked at every minute noise, especially the hard plodding of Sabina's heavy paws. Absorbing the radiance of the ornately decorated hallway, Cynder admired the tapestries along the wall. They all contained strange, foreign symbols stitched into patterned fabric. The arrangement of red, blue, green, and yellow tapestries caused her to think back to the Guardian's training room in the old Dragon Temple that used to be in the swamp.

From the ceiling hung a marble chandelier shaped like a slender dragoness. Lit candles tipped the ends of her wings, tail, and snout so that she was enveloped in the flickering flame. Cynder wanted to stop and gaze at the beautiful stone dragoness, but the others were already exiting through the other side.

Berk stopped before the end of the hallway and motioned for the cheetahs to come closer. "Stay in here, guys," Berk ordered. "We don't want to risk that people see you and react. Not many in Reddlebrooke have ever seen a cheetah before."

As Cynder stepped from the high-rising front porch leading to the plaza, the sunlight blinded Cynder, and she nearly gouged a stumbling Zeke with her horns. She padded down the steps, shielding her eyes by staring at the ground as they adjusted. The sound of many feet trailing the cobbled plaza brought her head up, and she gasped.

"Oh no," whimpered Berk as he sidled next to Cynder, touching her flank.

An orderly, box-shaped formation of at least twenty dragons blocked their way. The army was a glittering sea of scales, all elemental colors. Each dragon wore a pentagonal cape with an insignia of a maroon spiral crossed with a golden sickle. All sets of eyes were focused on Cynder, Berk, and the group, faces gleaming with disbelief and astonishment.

Cynder nearly fainted at the sight of the enormous dragon in the lead of the army. From head to toe, the leader simply emanated control and demand. Flame-like frills protruded from the dragon's flanks, decorating his face. A broad snout curved towards a pair of calculating but warm red eyes. The fire dragon bore all of the resemblance of somebody else that she knew so well. It was as if Ignitus had risen from the dead and come to stand before her now.

Zeke stumbled off of the porch and walked as casually as he could away from the group towards the central plaza. "I'll just be… waiting at the place," he tittered, breaking into a run.

The leader ignored the electric dragon and instead focused his accusatory eyes on the small figure of Berk. "'Oh no' is right, young dragon," the great red leader rumbled. "You've been missed all morning. Where in Zesha's name were you?"

"I was just doing a bit of hunting," Berk defended himself quickly. "It's not as if that's a crime."

"Berkley, I didn't ask what you were doing," the dragon responded with great intensity but not a trace of anger. "Where were you?"

"Out of bounds…"

"And what did I mandate of all young dragons in this time of war?"

Berk hung his head resignedly and mumbled, "Not to go out of bounds."

His mane flowing around him, the dragon nodded, satisfied. "And now you're learning."

The leader's eyes shifted from Berk to Cynder. She might have quailed under the intensity of his stare had the great dragon's face not lightened. "You've grown much since I last set eyes on you," he said in a guttural pitch, "Cynder."

Her jaw nearly dropped to the ground. _It _is_ Ignitus! He's come back. Spyro's going to be thrilled!_

But before Cynder could reply, somebody in the ranks shouted, "Hey, is that Sabina over there?"

The earth dragoness to this point had been lurking in the shadows of the front porch beside the three cheetahs. As Sabina emerged from the porch, it was the fire leader's turn to be awed. A wide beam spread across his face, and for the first time ever, Cynder witnessed Sabina return the smile.

Without restraint, Sabina rushed to the fire leader's side and placed her head on his shoulder. He snorted in surprise and clapped her on the back with a paw in an embrace.

"It's been over a year, hasn't it?" he acknowledged as they stepped away from each other. "Welcome home."

Cynder ran a paw across her face. What was she thinking? Ignitus hadn't known Sabina. This dragon must be Enric, the patriarch of the Reddlebrooke line. _But how did he know my name? _Cynder contradicted herself in her head.

A giant blue dragon behind Enric broke her though as he padded behind Sabina. "Sir, if we are to take our enemy by surprise, we must intercept them at the right time," he said urgently. "They will be entering the ravine any minute now."

"You needn't call me sir, McKay," Enric shot back. "You're correct, though."

He backed away from the earth dragoness and stood tall and erect. "Sabina, come with us," he ordered. "You're a formidable fighter, and we'll need all the extra pairs of claws that we can muster."

Berk raised his head to Enric. "Does this mean I can join you, Uncle?" he asked hopefully. "You told me this would be my first battle!"

Enric raised an eyebrow in disdain. "Do you expect me to trust irresponsible warriors in combat?" he queried, lowering himself to Berk's stature. "You know well enough from your training that only when minds think as one do they truly battle as one."

"But I'm ready!" Berk protested. "You said that you need all the claws you can muster! Surely it couldn't hurt!"

Cynder nearly cowered as Enric crossed his eyebrows and stood to full height. "No, Berkley," he growled. "That is my final word. If you had really desired to fight, you would have exerted more caution in your actions."

The smaller fire dragon seemed crushed. He hung his head and moved out of the path of the dragons, as Cynder did the same.

A smidgeon of sympathy was reflected in Enric's hard eyes. "I'm sorry, Berkley, but youth and inexperience are plagues on the field of battle," he said. "Maybe next time. For now, why don't you show Cynder around the village?"

The patriarch smiled at Cynder as he mentioned her name. "We will have a proper welcome for you when we return, Cynder," he promised.

McKay returned to the ranks while Enric pulled Sabina to his side. The army marched on past Cynder and a highly dejected Berk, clomping towards the building entrance to the plaza. The variously colored warriors in the lines shot Cynder strange glances as she took a place beside Berk.

"I know why Uncle's not letting me join in," Berk mumbled to Cynder, flipping his head away. "He thinks it'll be a public display of favoritism."

"Favoritism?" Cynder asked. "Who'd he be favoring?"

Enric's army had reached the huge building and was filing through the door. "We're allowed to enter battle when all five Mavens think that we're ready. 'Course, I've never seen anybody older than me enter a battle, though it's only recently that we've been at war with these flobber-eating Canians."

As if on cue, somebody in the building behind them yelled, "Canian spies! Get them!"

Cynder gasped as she saw the troop entering the building break into disorder.

"The cheetahs!" they shouted simultaneously.

Both dragons leapt from the ground and spread their wings, darting at the entrance to the building. When Berk noticed that the frame was clogged with the bulky forms of the Reddlebrooke warriors, he tugged Cynder with a free claw and motioned for them to fly over the building. They flipped and zoomed together through the back entrance to come face to face with Enric yet again.

Inside, Lennox had braced himself against the incoming flow of dragons, while Lotus had unsheathed her glossy green falchion and backed against a blue tapestry. But Hunter stood stock-still, nose-to-nose with Enric.

"Please, they're not spies," Cynder tried to warn Enric. "They've come with−"

Berk quieted Cynder by slapping his tail over her mouth. She started at him, indignant, when she noticed that the fire leader was not in an attacking stance.

Enric lifted his head in pleasant surprise. "It would appear that our fates are tied together, Hunter," he chirped.

"Indeed it would, Ric," Hunter replied, removing his hood.

* * *

The sunlight radiated Cynder's black scales, the colorless fibers absorbing all of the light and causing her to feel overheated. The sunbaked cobblestones were no help either. Her paws fell step-by-step over the stones beside Berk's own broader ones. She snorted. There was nothing she could do until Enric returned except wander aimlessly around with Berk.

The cheetahs had followed the battle party out of Reddlebrooke, Hunter having apparently experienced some reunion with a long-lost friend. Why Hunter hadn't deduced earlier, or even why he hadn't revealed earlier, that he'd known Enric was lost on Cynder. All Hunter had said in that hall was, "I met Ric a long time ago, before you were born," and then he just took off with Enric like everything was explained. It was so unlike Hunter that she wondered if he'd been addled by all the traveling.

_Everyone has their own secrets, I guess_, Cynder thought. _Except for me. Ha, what would I even hide? I'm already a notorious monster._

Berk's facial expression was no less turbulent than Cynder's, if not more. He led her to the center of the plaza, where she spotted a circular well and a tall, wooden structure.

"And I'm supposed to lead the Conclave one day," he spat, making Cynder recoil in surprise. "How the hell do they expect me to be the patriarch of Reddlebrooke when they baby me so much that I can't even fight like a real warrior?"

The uncomfortable pall on Cynder's face must not have gone unnoticed by Berk, as he relaxed his tense muscles. "I'm sorry, Cyn," he said more calmly. "I shouldn't be venting my anger on you. You've got more to be concerned about than I do."

Cynder shook her head and took in a gulp of air. "No, I understand completely," she responded quickly. Trying to change the subject, she continued, "What are the Mavens? I keep hearing that name."

"The Mavens are basically the governing power of Reddlebrooke," said Berk, his face taking on a serious expression. "They're a lot like your Guardians with tutoring and all, but they have a lot more say over what goes on. The Guardians are a flimsy bunch, in my opinion."

Perplexed, Cynder crossed her eyebrows again. "They directed us during the War," she argued but cut off short when her voice squeaked. She looked away, embarrassed.

"It's not your fault," Berk laughed. "Only an outsider sees the truth on the inside."

A mystical air washed over Cynder as she thought to her past. With every passing moment, this fire dragon seemed more pompous, yet all the same, less foreign and strange. Something recognizable just emanated from his scales. She couldn't tell whether it was how he carried himself or just the way he talked. All she knew was that there was some unexplainable quality about Berk that made him seem all the more familiar.

"You told me earlier that you'd mastered the element of wind?" Berk asked suddenly, taking Cynder off guard. When she gave a barely perceivable twitch of affirmation, his eyes widened. "The elders have only told us myths about a single wind dragoness, and she was no mortal. Legend has it that she was a goddess, and her wings took her faster through the skies than even the most nimble hawk. Her name was Zesha, and the elders still say that she watches over our village to this day."

She watched Berk with interest as he gestured at the neat row of houses lining the plaza in a circle. "Our first patriarch once saw a vision of the wind goddess, and it was for that very reason that he named the very center of the village 'Zesha's Ring.' Ever since then, all five of the chosen Mavens have lived on the outskirts of the Ring."

"They say that every patriarch of Reddlebrooke is directly connected to Zesha in some way, as they are all direct descendants of the first patriarch. And that means that I'm next in line, since Uncle didn't have any children−"

Suddenly, Berk halted and extended a single golden wing in front of Cynder for her to do the same. She blinked curiously, having been absorbed in the story of the wind goddess. It wasn't like she actually believed in the supernatural, but Berk could tell a fine tale nonetheless.

He directed her towards the cylindrical building at the center of the plaza, or the Ring as he called it. The building was capped with a shimmering-white wooden dome, and a picket-like fence encompassed the center, obstructing the view from outside. "There's so much ruckus going on that I nearly forgot! It's almost noon, and the others'll be waiting for me."

Grazing her scales lightly, Berk slid past Cynder and tensed his muscles to leap into flight. She realized what he was doing and quickly followed suit, letting the wind caress her magenta-colored wings and guide her into the air. Berk let himself slow to a glide beside Cynder as they closed in to the white building.

"The place I'm about to show you is called the Gazebo," he explained with a flourish of his ivory-chrome claws. "It's erected in honor of Zesha, to show our reverence to the one who gave us this valley. There'll be a couple of friends waiting for me inside. We hold secret meetings there every day at noon."

"What sort of secret meetings?"

"Erm…" A guarded look dominated his eyes. "If I tell you, you'll have to promise not to repeat this to anybody."

"I promise."

"You remember what I told you about the Mavens? How they won't let us go out and experience the real thing until they think we're ready? Well, since the Mavens have started downright forbidding us from even trying to defend our own village, some of us have taken matters into our own hands."

"Our organization is officially known as the Knight Raiders," said Berk, pausing for emphasis as he landed near the base of the Gazebo. "Uncle knows that we exist, but he doesn't even suspect that we take such an active role in the war. At least, that we will take an active role."

Cynder alighted on the stony ground next to the Gazebo. "Now don't talk too much until I've had my word," he hastened her as she folded her wings back and tucked them to the side. "The Raiders are all nice dragons, but some of them can act like nitwits… just saying."

The two dragons poked around the corner of the railing and entered, cutting through the welcoming shade and out of the castigating sunlight. The chatter of voices echoed through the opening.

The first object that Cynder noticed within the Gazebo was an enormous statue of the same stone dragoness that had hung from the chandelier in the Mavens' quarters. The dragoness towered over everything on her hind legs, her back arched in a semi-battle stance. Her well-sculpted head almost emanated with some unexplainable wisdom. Subconsciously, Cynder noted that the dragoness almost looked like her, with the slender form and tri-spiked neck.

Before she could admire the statue, Berk's claw tapped on her shoulder, and she turned to come face-to-face with a dark blue dragoness flecked with light splotches.

The newcomer threw her head back almost conceitedly. "You're late, Berk," she whined in a high-pitched voice. "And what's up with this stranger?"

Cynder stared around the circular room to see at about eight other dragons of the same size, all eyes glued to her. With the way they were receiving her, she might as well have been a lost fawn that had stumbled into the clearing of a pack of hyenas.

"No need to be rude," Berk snorted imperiously. "Everyone, gather 'round."

Berk must have been accustomed to giving these orders, as he moved automatically towards the statue, dragging Cynder along. Berk settled in the center directly in front of the statue and motioned for Cynder to come beside him. In the meantime, the others formed a circle around them. Eight young dragons of every color surrounded Cynder, peeking at her curiously. The only familiar face was the enthusiastic yellow dragon from before, Zeke.

"Raiders, our meeting has commenced," Berk announced proudly. "Before I begin with my report, does anybody have first words?"

Zeke jumped to his paws emphatically, batting the scrawny electricity dragon beside him in the head. "Me! Me!"

The stout fire dragon sighed, his wings quivering impatiently. "Go on, Zeke."

"How much did Master Enric chew your horns off for getting caught?"

The previously silent and concentrated dragons around them erupted into peals of laughter, their heads tossed back in mirth. The skinny electric dragon nearly doubled over. "Geez, Hal," Zeke whispered to his companion. "Loosen up. I didn't mean for it to be that funny."

"If you haven't noticed," Berk replied in a sardonic tone, his lip curled, "my horns are still perfectly intact."

The dark, splotchy ice dragoness that had confronted Cynder earlier giggled at Zeke. "That shut you up!" she screeched.

"Enough fooling around already!" Berk snapped, catching everyone's attention. "This is serious stuff. A Warfanger's here in Reddlebrooke."

Excited murmurs swept through Berk's audience. An electric-blue dragon whispered intently to an identical earth dragon beside him. A couple of the others regarded Berk cynically . Cynder gazed around the room timidly, unsure what to think.

The electric-blue dragon tore his snout away from his partner and opened his maw towards Berk. "Where is this Warfanger? Is he nearby? I want to see him myself."

"I bet he's handsome. Tel's always going on about how those Warfangers are a handsome bunch," the ice dragoness said whimsically, resting her head against the side of the rail.

"No, no, no, none of that," Berk said, taking Cynder's paw and pulling her up. "This is no regular Warfanger. Everyone meet Cyn, the first wind dragoness here since the time of Zesha."

Every dragon in the Gazebo stopped shuffling, and pure silence permeated the elevated fence surrounding them. Somebody's tail clicked over a stone on the ground, and the sound reverberated through the building. All around her mouths gaped, some with incredulity and others in outright denial.

Cynder scuffled uncomfortably and tried to shield herself from all of the attention. She tried to focus on something else and found her sight wandering to the statue of the dragoness behind her. The statues eyes almost seemed to relax her, meeting hers like a mothers' unto a daughters'.

"Prove it," the bluish electric dragon ordered, breaking the silence. "If she can use wind, then my mother's a Canian."

Playfully, the earth dragon, who must have been his twin for the likeness, shoved him to the dusty floor. "This is our mother you're talking about, Win," he said in a monotone. "The audacity! Then again, guess it explains why you turned out like you did."

"At least if I'm a bad egg, so are you," Win retorted, scrambling to his claws and attempting a swipe at his brother. The blue twin ducked away and crouched into a semi-hunting position, claws extracted. Voltage cracked at the end of his snout, and as he opened his mouth, a flashing orb formed at the corners of his fangs. He fired the orb at Win, who at the last moment swung his green forearm upward in a striking motion. A verdant wall of energy blocked the electric orb, and it ricocheted harmlessly into one of the Gazebo posts.

The onlookers formed a ring around the sparring dragons, and Zeke popped up in the air gleefully and began gesticulating wildly with his forepaws. "Indeed, our contenders have an even match to-day!" he narrated in a sing-song voice. "Yes, what a daring move on the part of our good Kip, using a Volt Attack, but quite impractical when considering the identicality of his double. Should have seen it coming to him." The quirky yellow dragon shook his head and tsked loudly.

Unseen by the two combatting twins, Berk had slipped through a break in the ring and waited for his chance. When Kip and Win were just about to clash again, he sprinted into the center of the ring and fired two concentrated bursts of flame in either direction. Each ball of fire contacted with the other twin's chest at the same time, and the two brawling brothers were sent somersaulting away from each other.

_This is barbaric!_ Cynder thought to herself, watching as Berk licked his lips. She had remained under the statue of Zesha, only glad that the attention had been focused on something other than herself.

"And we have a new contestant! None other than the great Zamboni himself, prestidigitator of prestidigitation, our very own mini-patriarch. Give it up for Beeeerkley!"

The stout red dragon had remained in the center, unmoving as the twins picked themselves gingerly to their paws and stumbled out of the circle. He eyes were fixed directly at the Zesha… no, directly at Cynder. Her heart leapt.

"Attack me, Cyn," he murmured almost inaudibly.

A tide of confusion washed through Cynder's mind, and she backed away. "What?"

Berk reared on his hind legs. "I said attack me," he said again, this time louder.

"No… why would I attack you?"

"Just do it!" Berk roared this time. "You're far too shy for your own good!"

The spectators were all looking on expectantly, moving their heads from Berk to Cynder and then back again. Cynder took a step forward but then decided against it. She waved her paw at him in dismissal.

"Don't be a freakin' coward! Only cowards let people push them around! If the Warfangers you know at home could see you now, they would call you a three-footed chicken! Just take one good look at−"

A darkened paw clipped Berk on the left nostril, and his jaw collided against the mandible with a _clonk_. A collective intake of air sounded around them as the dragons' eyes widened in surprise. Rather than rub the smarting area as he might have been tempted to do, Berk remained still and smirked with satisfaction. "The cat's out of the bag, now."

Returning his grin, Cynder pounced over the red dragon, flipping in the air and coming to a skid behind him. Taking advantage of her opponent's moment of indecision, she barreled into his side. Berk slide across the ground with an _umph! _of astonishment. While he was still supine, she clawed at his exposed stomach.

"Can this match get any tenser?" Zeke prated on, elevating his shoulders in mock uncertainty. "I think not! Our champion might encounter himself overwhelmed over this new contender. Oh, the suspense is killing me! Just killing me! See, my heart is just bleeding sweat!"

But before she could even touch him, Berk hopped to his feet with the speed of a hare. The two dragons, face-to-face, side-stepped each other. Cynder had the uncanny impression that she had done something like this before, but that had been on the wooden deck of a floating ship, not the smooth cobblestone of the Gazebo.

Somebody whooped in the audience, breaking Cynder's concentration. A warm, scaly body contacted with her shoulder and unbalanced her feet. Claws battered her chest-plates, making everything feel dizzy. With a final pounding collision, Berk knocked Cynder backwards, where she nearly landed on the weedy electric dragon next to Zeke.

"Too slow!" Berk taunted her.

_Ok, no more toying around_. _He's going to see the real me now. _ Time slowed as she rose to her paws and noted that Berk was sprinting in for a second go. A tickling sensation trickled through her chest and into her paws, and white mist began to condense all around her body. Even though the day was stagnant and hot outside, cool breeze infiltrated the room from the roof, licking at everyone's scales.

A pall of determination shining in her acid-green eyes, Cynder allowed her instincts to fall to the wind. Right before Berk collided with her head-on, a blast of fierce zephyrs assaulted him. The winds carried him, struggling, to the roof, where the head of the stone dragoness stared at him almost disdainfully. He fought against the forces, trying to ground himself back inside the ring, but the forces of the winds caught in his pale golden wing membranes.

All of the bystanders reacted with exclamations of awe and wonder, and even Zeke was lost for silly catch-phrases. With a beam of satisfaction on her face, Cynder willed the winds to gradually relax hold on Berk, and he floated ever so gently to the foot of Zesha.

"Is that good enough for you?" Cynder asked meaningfully while Berk grasped ahold of himself. "Am I a coward now?"

The red dragon pushed his way past one of the flustered twins, and a smile tweaked his wide lips. "You were never one to begin with."

* * *

**Expect more of these fight scenes. Honestly, they're a lot more fun to write than I thought. **

**Sorry if I didn't get this updated as fast as I'd wanted to! I said I'd have this done by May, but this chapter took me like a week to finish. Tell you what, I'll work as fast as I can on the next one. Does that sound like a deal? Great, it's settled then. **


	14. Unbegotten Memories

**And Spyro's back again! The magic of alternating subplots has brought us back to the Spyro and Lennox. Tell me… do you like this technique, or would you prefer that I cover both Spyro and Cynder randomly throughout the chapter again? I want to hear what you think.**

The fiery green eyes blazed at him dispassionately, filled with emotionless malice. The wolf's muzzle quivered slightly as the beast tried to free itself, but the layer of ice encapsulated the furry neck. The pond under the ice was clouding with black, inky material from the wolf's fur, not quite blood, but some oily and greasy compound.

Lennox grasped the wolf's own golden-hilted dagger tightly in his paw. He was holding the very weapon that had nearly killed him and the same one that had witnessed Aspen's murder. His head moved back and forth through the relative obscurity of the night, from the dagger back to the wolf's defiant head sticking out of the ice like a prisoner's from a guillotine.

_Gratified much?_ the wispy, translucent cheetah beside him quipped. _Your greatest goal has been handed to you on a silver platter. Take it or forever live in shame_.

The purple dragon, who appeared either not to have noticed Jasmine or to be incapable of seeing the spectral cat, tilted his chin in a gesture for Lennox to lay down his weapon. "It's over now," Spyro repeated himself, lifting his foot tenderly from the cold ice. "I know somebody who can help us take this thing up without hurting it."

Without hurting it? What in the world was this maniac dragon talking about? Here was the one being that had tarnished, that had destroyed everything in his life. Blood began to flow through Lennox's head, and palpitations jarred his rib-cage. Adrenaline leaked into his body, sending shivers up his spine, and he felt as if he could do anything, fight anything, just so long as his lust was satisfied.

He leaned down to his knees and without warning slung the dagger back in a swiping motion. The wolf, unperturbed, simply continued to stare with its glowing eyes, penetrating through Lennox's body off into some unknown galaxy. He swung the dagger towards the beast's exposed neck, expecting to feel the warm gush of coagulating liquid.

Instead, a flash of yellow voltage rent his body, and he was sent flying backwards, top over bottom, away from the wolf. His body landed with a _crack_ across the frozen pond, breaking the ice and soaking into his fur. The last object he saw before the darkness closed in was a brilliant scarlet wing.

* * *

Ashes again. The heat of the moldering atmosphere and the emptiness of the void closed in on him, compressing and contracting. He gazed down at his bare chest to see that the red mark had gone. He stood and began to walk aimlessly through the nothingness.

In the blurry distance, the figure of his sister began to form again, but this time, Lennox was ready. He tensed his muscles and move in to sprint as fast as he could towards the outline. Smoldering debris grazed his furry cheeks, but he kept running.

The figure was dissipating into the blackness, growing farther away from him as he closed in. Somebody called his name behind him, and he turned around to see his mother reaching out to him desperately, horror etched on her face. He didn't stop, though, but rushed even more rapidly than before, chasing Aspen through the void.

"Don't!" Euphie screamed behind him. "You don't know where you're going!"

Suddenly, a great white chasm opened before him, and at his momentum, Lennox tumbled into the rift. Strangely enough, he didn't feel as if he were falling but just drifting into a fading white backdrop. He raised a forearm to see that his blue fur was also disappearing before his very eyes.

A world was materializing around him, lush green grass growing out of fertile earth and a rapid river cutting through the center of the field. An enormous oak burst from the ground near him to shroud the field in calm shade. Familiar wooden barracks and village huts erupted into view.

This was his home, the only place that he'd ever known before the War. At last, the scenery completed itself as the ambience of birdsong and squirrel chatter leaked into the Valley of Avalar.

Lennox attempted to move about, flailing his arms and legs, but found that he couldn't touch anything. He was simply suspended in midair. The ground was a frustrating few feet below him, but as much as he grabbed for the soft floor, he would not move. It was as if the laws of gravity had abandoned the world.

Panic sank in when he realized that his arm was semi-transparent. The greenery of the Valley reflected through his blue-gray form, making him seem like a ghost or forgotten spirit.

_Have I died_? Lennox asked himself. _Is this what it feels like to be dead? _He floated for a moment beside the oak and tried once more to paddle through the air, but to no avail. If this was how ghosts lived all the time, he decided, then death must be a lonely experience.

The sound of a conversation shattered his train of thought, and he looked around wildly for the source. Two cheetahs, one male and one female, were walking side-by-side, nearing the old oak. They seemed about his own age, but he couldn't recall any members of the tribe like these two. The voices were growing louder as they approached.

"Oh my," the female cheetah gasped. "He sounds like a nasty one."

Her companion shook his head. "That ape general? No, I cut through him easily, and then his little underlings were left to scatter around like mindless dupes." He grinned charmingly while she pined over him in admiration.

They were close enough now that there was no mistaking their facial features. The male one's sunset-colored eyes and black-tipped ears were all too recognizable. That had to be Hunter. The fur on his cheeks was softer and fluffier somehow, though, and his shoulders were less broad.

The other cheetah was harder to identify, but before Lennox could look on any further, the young Hunter said, "Stop, Euphie. This is the place."

A wave of understanding licked through Lennox's mind like fire. He wasn't dead; at least, he didn't think so. This had to have been a memory like the ones that Jasmine had shown him on his first trip through the void. Only this time, he'd been the one to open it. Furthermore, he seemed to be able to hear clearly, something that he hadn't been able to do on his previous visits.

He scanned the Valley again. The Avalar that was before him now didn't seem dissimilar to the Avalar that he knew, but there was a different air about the place. He had to have stepped at least fifteen to twenty years into the past. The young figures of Euphie and Hunter were more lithe and lively than Lennox had ever seen them.

The late Euphie's obvious fear before he'd fallen into this memory must have meant that she hadn't wanted him to see this. That was out of the question now, though. He was stuck here, and there was nothing that he or his dead mother could do about it. Lennox relaxed slightly, somewhat assured that he hadn't passed away.

"When are they going to arrive?" Euphie asked, already impatient. "You told me that they would be here before we were. You know I can't be seen near your village, Hunter. Your chief thinks you're doing this alone."

Hunter rolled his eyes apathetically and sat in the low boughs of the oak. "I don't care what Prowlus thinks," he said, kicking his legs at the worn bark. "He's been leader for a week, and he's no older than I."

"Why didn't Glade choose you?"

A twinge of discomfort touched the corner of Hunter's lips, and his ears flattened. "Chief Glade?" Hunter repeated. "He wanted someone young, with potential."

Lennox's mother hopped onto the branch beside Hunter and curled her tail around the bough. She could clearly see that he was avoiding the answer. "That doesn't explain why he didn't choose you."

"Look, maybe he thought Prowlus had something I didn't," Hunter replied brusquely. "I don't question his intentions."

Euphie watched a finch pull a fat grub from the ground and kicked her feet around in the grass. After a moment, Hunter asked, "And how did you get away from your leader?

Her iceberg-blue eyes flashed huffily. "How'dya think? He wouldn't let me visit your tribe's soil for anything!"

"You snuck out?"

Hunter searched her face for the answer and upon seeing it looked away. His own expression hardened, and he took the more mature, commanding mien that Lennox had come to know too well. "Your tribe had better not notice that you're gone. I would not have asked you to go through this if I'd known there'd be such a risk."

"Doesn't our time together mean anything anymore?" Euphie shot back indignantly. "You've grown into such a damn prig lately. It used to be that we never cared about sneaking out every other night, but now, finding a time is like searching for a grublin with a personality."

By now, Lennox's mind was whirling in confusion. What was his mother doing, toying around with Hunter? Hunter had never even mentioned anything about Euphie before, only that she had died in an ape attack. And furthermore, what was this about a second tribe? There was no other tribe.

In his concentration, he found himself staring intensely at the foot of the oak. Without warning, his body drifted downwards towards the roots and passed through the bark. He yelped in surprise, but the sound didn't come out of his mouth.

After he had recovered, Lennox tried to move himself again in the same way. This time, his spirit-like being glided in the direction of his sight. He smiled widely. The satisfaction of finally gaining control of this new form was indescribable.

Lennox straightened himself back out and drifted within range of the bough where Hunter and Euphie were sitting, not wanting to miss out on any details that he might catch. The cheetahs, however, had stopped chatting, and Euphie was pointing at something far away. Lennox's eyes followed the direction of her furry paw to the sky.

Two burly red shapes were twisting through the air, barreling straight for him. Forgetting that he was non-corporeal and unable to move without the control of his mind, Lennox ducked and succeeded only in causing himself to twirl about in midair. He closed his eyes as one of the shapes, a broad-chested red dragon, rushed directly through him.

"Which of you is Hunter?" a deep-throated voice demanded. "Chief Glade told us that our burglar's name would be Hunter."

Lennox opened his eyes to see Hunter regarding two enormous fire dragons wearily. "Well, sorry to bring you the news, but Glade's dead."

"Oh." The speaker appeared unsure as to whether he should be alarmed or sympathetic. Lennox remembered that the dragons and the cheetahs hadn't always been on the best of terms. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"There's no reason for you to be sorry," Hunter said indifferently, toying with a stray branch on the oak while Euphie gawked at the two behemoths. "You didn't know him personally."

The other dragon, which bore a striking resemblance to his partner, flexed his shoulders impatiently. "So I take it you're Hunter," he guessed.

"I am he."

"Pleased to be acquainted with you," the fire dragon replied briskly, finally shooting a glance at Euphie, who had been staring intently at him. Embarrassed, she quickly turned to look at something else. "You may call me Ric. My companion is Nite."

"Confound it," the other dragon replied. "You know how I despise that nickname. Please call me Ignitus."

"Okay, Nite. Quite traditional of you, that is."

"And barely professional−"

"If you're done bickering like two old wives," Hunter interrupted them, narrowing his eyes, "I'll have you know that we're ready to leave."

"There's no need to be abrupt, cheetah," Ignitus growled warningly.

"And no means of treating a Guardian," Ric added. He opened his mouth and watched Hunter as he slid off the tree, dragging Euphie off gently with his hand. "Did I mishear you? I'm not that old yet, but it would seem that you said 'we.'"

"You can trust those openings you call earholes on either side of your head. Seemingly ineffective, but surely functional," Hunter said condescendingly. "I have a partner with me now, and it's either the two of us or neither."

Ric's eyes narrowed, and he stomped his foot beside the oak nervously. "The Guardians requested but one burglar, Hunter. The maneuvers will require but one sly pair of paws. Any greater number blatantly asks for miscarriage."

"My final word does not falter, dragon."

"Had we known that Glade would elect such an impudent candidate," Ignitus hissed, smoke flying from his nostrils, "perhaps we might have considered bidding aid from the other tribe."

The young cheetah smirked knowingly. "Ah, but you would not have done so. Glade never ceased to associate much too closely with your kind, and you were well aware that our tribe was your best option, given that Glade was so easily manipulated by your petty whims. We are your only choice." Hunter clung more tightly to the branch. "The winds do not cast the tides to your favor."

Ignitus leaned his head over to Ric's and whispered in his ear. Lennox could just hear him say, "This isn't going well. Let's reconsider doing this another time, or at least proceed without the burglar."

The other dragon seemed horrified at the prospect. "No! We must save the egg before it hatches. Who knows what the apes will do to a newborn dragonling? The Dark Master's old minions have horrid tricks up their sleeves. They're gruesome creatures, and you can attest to that from personal experience."

"One stealthy thief operates less conspicuously than two."

"But Ignitus," Ric pleaded, "You yourself understand that these terms encompass fields much greater than simple philanthropy." The fiery dragon's lips hardened into genuine worry. "If the mission is not executed correctly, one of the last things I hold dear will be lost to me forever."

At those words, Ignitus's expression softened considerably, his florid eyes twinkling sympathetically. "Let's see what can be done."

The two dragons leaned away from each other, and Hunter looked on defiantly, still grasping Euphie's paw. Ignitus snorted and backed off while Ric craned his broad neck out towards the cheetahs.

He evaluated Euphie critically, noting her dainty bark-colored tunic. "Does your companion know how to avert detection and navigate through even the most shadowed of dwellings?"

Euphie lifted her head solemnly. "If that's what we're doing−"

"Shh," Hunter quieted the young cheetah. "I'll handle this."

Hunter's whiskers rose as he turned to respond to Ric. "That's why I'm bringing her. Euphie's more adept at staying out of sight and dodging through shadows than I am. Besides, with her, the whole task will be easier than fetching river rocks from the stream."

Suddenly morbidly serious, Ignitus glared at the young cheetah. "Do not speak lightly of such a place, Hunter. Had you experienced the maleficent aura of Concurrent Skies and then easily bested its pestilence on our world, maybe so, but that is not the case."

Hunter silently slid from the bough of the oak with Euphie.

A small spark of worry lighted in Ric's eyes, and he sighed resignedly, bringing his great head to the direction of the skies. "Let's be off then. We don't have any time to lose."

Lennox attempted to follow, but something held him back. The sky darkened, hiding everything around him from view. A paw grabbed his arm and tugged him away, flailing his light spirit-form through the air. White light erupted around him, but the set of claws continued to dig into his shoulder. He directed himself around to come face-to-face with none other than Jasmine.

"By the ancestors, you don't have to squeeze the life out of me!" Lennox complained, angry that Jasmine had pulled him out of the memory.

Jasmine, who like Lennox was semi-transparent, reached out and slapped Lennox across the cheeks. "You reek of insolence," she snapped, pointing a claw at his chin and forcing his head upwards. "This record should never have been seen by eyes so juvenile and inexperienced as yours. Children as the likes of you might formulate naïve ideas."

"Who are you calling a child?" he replied, running a hand down the tender area where her claw had scratched. "You're no older than me!"

"You don't understand. You just don't understand."

He felt like punching the vibrant red cheetah. "I've had a lot of people telling me things like that," Lennox ranted. "And I tell you I'm sick of it. Let me understand, for goddamn sake! I've been ordered around all my life and criticized like a disobedient whelp. All anyone wants to do is use me and then leave me in the dark. I just want to be myself!"

Jasmine retracted her claws but floated closer to him until their noses were nearly touching. "You disgust me. When your mother sees you next, you'll be no more than a quavering scrap of fur."

Infuriated, Lennox kicked Jasmine away from him. The impact forced both cheetahs apart in the white nothingness. He felt himself being sucked downward, as if a great whirlpool were tugging him through the void. Jasmine's eyes widened in dismay as she tried to drift closer to him, but he was falling too quickly. She disappeared from sight, and everything began to materialize around him once more.

The beleaguered cheetah landed on the smooth cobblestone of a dank street crowded with dragons, moles, and cheetahs. He recognized the place as the old Warfang, before it had sunk into the ground, but something was different. Everything seemed more like a dream, and the streetgoers around him were not moving fluidly but disjointedly. A misty haze blocked him from proceeding.

At least he was on the ground this time, and his body had solidified once more. Lennox stumbled to his feet and tried to find his bearings in the crowded street. The city-folk pushed him around, shoving him this way and that as they moved hurriedly with their business.

"Stop it!" he protested, struggling against the crowd. "Leave me alone!"

A cackling voice rattled the foundations of the city, sending Lennox tumbling down the street and into the wall. He raised his head, dazed, to try to discern the source of the clangor.

_On the dawn of the solar occult,_

_ Skies will fall,_

_ Amass the main,_

_ And so raise the flood to End all Beginnings._

A sonorous rushing sound, almost like a tornado, deafened his ears. A building toppled across the street, and the civilians were all yelling, running this way and that. The moon covered the sun, darkening the world.

At the edge of his hazy vision, a frothing white wave towered into the sky. The wave hung there, suspended, for moments, a single fluid wall, before crashing, destroying, carrying all debris, away. Water slapped at Lennox's vulnerable body, tossing it about, suffocating.

* * *

"Avimus! I think the cheetah's alive! Breathing, he's breathing!"

"Nonsense. One cannot return from the dead, and I tell you, there was no pulse."

"Reason explained. We have an undead cheetah on our hands. Let's go hide in the cellars."

"That's not even remotely amusing, Sparx."

Lennox opened his eyelids to find huge, purple irises staring into his own eyes and a scaly purple claw situated on his chest. When the purple dragon realized that Lennox was watching him, he slid off gingerly and scraped his paw over the wooden floorboards. An orange dragon with iridescent-blue wings sidled around him and upon noticing that he was awake widened his green eyes in surprise.

He sat up to scratch his sore back but groaned when his muscles seized up. Instead, he lay on his side and noted the brightening, ruby-red light of the sun shining into the frame of the cabin. The sting leapt up his side again, and he grimaced tightly.

A rounded, scaly head obscured Lennox's vision as Avimus leant down to ensure that his eyes were not playing games with him. "He _does_ have a pulse," he observed in a calculating drawl. "I must have made a mistake earlier."

The orange dragon tapped on Lennox's head. "You, can you hear me? Speak."

His throat was dry, but he managed to produce a muffled grunt. Avimus drew away from him, nearly swatting a yellow dragonfly with his tail, to snatch something from the side of the bed. He returned steadily, grasping the object upright in his paw. White steam leaked from the spheroid, bowl-like object, which appeared to be made of red clay.

Heat rippled into Lennox's fur as Avimus sustained the bowl near his lips. The smell of citrus and cinnamon wafted to his nostrils. The smell attracted the dragonfly, who hovered in closer to get a better view.

"Open up," Avimus barked imperatively. "This will loosen your muscles and provide you some slack from your wounds."

"Wha−" he croaked, avoiding the bowl.

The orange dragon slapped his tail on the floorboards in impatience and shoved the bowl at Lennox. "Just drink it. The infusion is harmless. It's isatis combined with two other herbal coagents."

A sliver of movement out of the corner of Lennox's eye alerted him to something behind him, and he swiveled his neck to see Spyro. The dragon's lips were contorted in a mixture of curiosity and what might have been guilt. "You should listen to Avimus," he advised Lennox sincerely. "He knows what he's doing."

Reluctantly, Lennox permitted his caretaker to pour the watery liquid into his mouth. The infusion stung at his throat just like the medicine that Meadow had always employed for treating sore throat. The taste was so stringent that he had to suppress the reflex to spit all of the contents into an unsuspecting victim's face.

The connection to Meadow and Avalar jolted the memories of his dream back into his mind. None of it seemed the slightest bit possible. Hunter had never spoken of another tribe or of anything personal about his mother. The commander had always been somewhat distant from him. Yet something lingering at the back of his mind told him that there was substance behind these visions. At any rate, the red mark on his chest proved that.

"You're just going to need some time to recover from the shock," Avimus assured him, catching Lennox's attention. "In the meantime, I'm sure you wouldn't mind answering some questions for us."

"Not so fast, Avi-guy!" Sparx cut in, waving his twig-like hands in front of Avimus's baffled profile. "You're gonna knock him out again with all your questioning."

Admiration glinted through Spyro's mauve eyes at the dragonfly's thoughtful intervention. He held out a paw before Avimus. "Lennox deserves to know what happened."

Avimus briskly ferried the bowl from the table, sighing and shaking his head. "Fine, please yourselves. I'm just a bystander."

After a guarded glance at Avimus, Spyro proceeded to explain to Lennox that he had been unconscious for the entire night.

"It's my fault that you ended up like this," Spyro said flatly, almost apologetically. "I couldn't let you slay that wolf in cold blood. That thing has brought me a lot of trouble, but nothing deserves to die like that, least of all to dirty paws as clean as yours."

Blood rushed to Lennox's head as he tried to comprehend what the purple dragon had revealed. "You… you what?" Lennox stuttered. "It's still alive? You let the beast live?"

"Of course!" he replied briskly. "Taking the upper claw on a downed enemy is not honorable."

The weight of the atmosphere crashed in and threatened to suffocate Lennox. This was not what he had expected at all. He'd come this far, only to be openly prevented from completing the task that had burned in his mind since the moment he saw Aspen's seared body wrapped in Hunter's cape. And of all the beings in the world that he could have been thwarted by, it was the very one that Lennox had set out to find in the first place. This purple dragon.

"I assume you permitted the mongrel to escape," Lennox said with tone of undisguised bitterness. "Honorable, is it, to let an assassin have another stab at a throat?"

Spyro backed away from Lennox, who had risen into a sitting position in spite of the stings that had throbbed through his back from the elementally inflicted wounds. "No, Lennox, we didn't allow the wolf to leave."

Confusion coursed through Lennox's head. He crossed his eyes at Spyro, who shot Avimus an uncomfortable glance.

"Not to worry," Avimus put in, misreading Lennox's expression. "The wolf's under heavy sedatives. It won't be doing any more damage any time soon. Furthermore−"

"Let me see it," Lennox demanded without warning, standing to his paws. "I want to see it."

"Woah, not so fast, sly guy," the dragonfly spurted sardonically, hovering near Lennox's head. "You're in a rush to go and kiss the sleeping damsel, I know that much, but…" Sparx's clasped the corner of Lennox's pointed ear and stuck his head through the orifice to whisper. "Her face isn't the prettiest sight if you ask me. Huge fangs and long snout, not the kind of girl I'd wanna hang around."

Lennox swiped the dragonfly away from him. "She? What are you talking about?"

"The specimen, or prisoner, in question is female," the orange dragon said, eliciting a puff of disbelief from Lennox. "As I was about to divulge before you rudely interrupted me, the wolf did not act on her own behalf. Her fur contained globules of a viscous compound that we can only assume was affecting her behavior."

"In other words," explained Spyro, "she was under an enchantment. A curse."

Avimus rolled his eyes and strode away from the mat towards the stairwell. "How many times must I break it to you? There is no such thing as magic. The only explanations that exist are physical and chemical," he grunted before swerving around the railing. "I'm off to check on her. Spyro, you ensure Lennox stays put."

"Look here" Spyro urged Lennox once Avimus had descended the stairs. The purple dragon removed his scaly paw from the foot of the bed. "Are you from Avalar?"

"Yeah," Lennox replied emptily, resting his hind-leg tenderly on the mat.

"I thought as much." Spyro's muscles tautened as he jumped onto the platform that led out to the upper porch of the cabin. "If you were from anywhere else, I might have doubts, but you Avalarians are a trustworthy bunch."

Lennox watched Spyro inquisitively as he beckoned to the yellow dragonfly, who came to a hovering halt by the dragon's left horn.

Spyro's muscles tautened as if he was preparing to leap into flight. "Can you do me a favor, Lennox?" he asked, leaning over the edge of the portcullis. "On second thought, two favors."

Without considering the dragon's request, Lennox replied, "Sure."

"Let Avimus know

**Dear Beloved Reader,**

**Yes, I ended you on an incomplete chapter. This day represents a turning point in my life as a writer, and I'll explain why. My work has not been satisfying me, and looking back to some of the initial chapters, I see grave plot holes, errors, character superficialities, et cetera, et cetera, and so forth. What began as a casual novella has grown into a greater task. Such a task needs a more organized approach. This might surprise you, *unwarranted sarcasm* but I haven't had a plan to execute this story since the moment I started it. No character personalities, no organized plot, no nothing. Everything you see before you has been written on the spur of the moment with no regard whatsoever to proper writing technique. In the words of Ernest Hemingway, "it's crap."**

**That doesn't mean that I've lost inspiration for the story. Oh no, it's far from that. I'll fill you in on my plan. The first step, of course, is to construct the framework of my novel, which includes basic plot, basic character developments, and basic, basic, themes. I've already got half of it written out, so that should be a cliched cinch. The next is to revise, revise, revise, my previous twelve chapters to add some better-planned development and capture a consistent theme. After that, I'll continue with my story, yip-pa-dee-doo-da-day, and you'll be able to see what happens next (although that's not really important).  
**

**Please, please, please berate me with all the extreme constructive critique you can! I don't care if you're typographically shrieking at me to the point of flaming; I just want some hard, flat criticism so that I can improve where necessary. **

**In the meantime, keep up with the profile page to see new events and other paraphernalia blah blah blah. Remember that I've got some opportunities open for you writers, especially with the Warfang Elite (join a group of serious writers) and beta-reading (I promise I don't bite). **

**PM me with any questions related to my story while I'm editing (and on that note, you can check my old chapters now and then to see the changes that have been made). For now, enjoy your summer (or winter?) while it lasts, whether you're off school, at a university, whatever. The next time you get an update is when you know that the orange dragon is back at it again.**

**Yours truly,**

**-Avimus**


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